


Some Of Us Are Looking At The Stars

by ProxyOne



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Antiques Dealer Hannibal, BFF Bev, Barista Will, Fluff, Just Straight Up Fluff, M/M, no one dies, no one is a cannibal, or a murderer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-16 12:24:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9271316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProxyOne/pseuds/ProxyOne
Summary: Will is a barista, working with Alana.  Beverly is his flatmate and best friend.  Life is moving smoothly, and Will thinks he is perfectly content with the quietness of his life.Then one day, a man walks into their shop...Updates weekly.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I'm writing a coffee shop AU, because I am in the mood for some ridiculous fluff. I hope you enjoy it!

“How was work?”

The sound that came from what could probably be called Will Graham, currently hunched up under a mound of blankets, sounded something like 'meh', but could just as as easily run the entire spectrum of possible answers from 'great!' to 'hell'. Bev blinked, peering at the sorry looking sight at the end of the couch, before closing the door behind her and throwing her keys on the table.

“We've really gotta get a proper heater for this place. I can't even hear you from under that cocoon you've made yourself.”

There was a moment of brief silence, then a head emerged from beneath the blankets.

“I'm pretty sure we said that all of last winter, too,” he answered. “We'll manage.”

“Not like the windows here can keep the heat in anyway,” said Bev. Will grunted in agreement.

“Work was okay,” he said in response to Bev's initial question. “Alana says hi.”

“Tell her I said hi back. How about Hobbs? Things any different there?”

“Are you referring to the father or the daughter?”

“The father. I didn't know he had a daughter.”

“Neither did I, until she showed up today for work experience.”

“No way!” Bev exclaimed, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Is that weird?”

“Nah, she seems a nice kid. A little...I don't know. Weird. But not like her dad. Normal weird.”

Bev nodded. “Normal weird. Right. Gotcha. That totally makes sense.”

“Growing up with him as a father, I'm surprised she's normal at all.”

“Is he really that weird? Why do you keep working there?”

Will shrugged, the whole pile of blankets moving around him as he did so. Bev leaned across and pulled one off him, wrapping it around herself as she sat at the other end of the couch.

“He's not really _that_ weird,” he confessed. “We just get bored at work during the quiet times and make up stories. Sometimes it's easy to start blurring that line between them.”

“Is that because of your _thing_?” Bev asked waving her hand around in the air.

“Empathy disorder. You can say it, Bev.”

“But it's so much more fun this way. It makes it seem more mystical and shit.”

“It's a disorder, Beverly,” Will said flatly, but a hidden smile danced in his eyes. In truth, he loved the way Bev teased him about his empathy ' _thing'_. She had a real gift for making him feel normal.

“Anyway,” Bev said, getting the conversation back to its point. “He's weird, but not really _that_ weird, and his daughter is also weird, but she's normal weird.”

“That's pretty much it, yeah.”

Bev just stared at him for a moment, then shook her head.

“I'm going to come in and visit you tomorrow. I've got a day off.”

“Please don't.”

“I promise I won't embarrass you!”

Will shook his head vehemently, extracting one arm from his cocoon so he could point an accusing finger at Bev.

“You might not intend to, but you and Alana can't help yourselves. You'll gang up on me and do _something._ You always do.”

Bev blew a raspberry at Will but otherwise didn't respond.

“How'd your date go, anyway?” Will asked, changing the subject.

“Ehhhh,” said Bev, wavering her hand in front of her. “It was fine, but I don't think there'll be a second one.”

“No spark?”

“Oh there was a spark, just not between me and him.”

Will looked quizzically at Bev, waiting for an explanation.

“The whole time we were there, it was Jimmy this, Jimmy that. He even pulled out his phone to send Jimmy a photo of the dinner, to encourage him to come with him next time. He then spent the next half hour all but ignoring me and giggling over whatever it was Jimmy had to say. I had a really good dinner though, so that was fine.”

“Who's Jimmy?” Will asked, momentarily lost.

“Some workmate of his. Jimmy is, and I quote, the 'funniest, smartest person' Brian has ever worked with. Oh, and he has snappy dress sense, too. Wears a suit like no one else, yet still looks just as good in casual wear.”

“Oh dear. Do you think Brian knows?” Will said with a grin.

“I think he is completely oblivious. Poor guy. I'm sure he'll work it out soon enough, though.”

“I don't know, I've seen people go their entire lives without realising what's right in front of their noses.”

Bev smiled. Will was glad that, despite the date being a bust, she'd still had a good time. Then again, it took an awful lot to bring Beverly Katz down.

“So no second date. Do you think you'll see him in a non-romantic sense again?”

“Yeah, he's actually a really cool guy. And I may or may not have set up a bet with my cousin about him and this Jimmy guy getting together while I was on my way home.”

“This is the same cousin that set you guys up on the date in the first place? Shouldn't she already know about this Jimmy situation?” asked Will with a smile.

“Believe me, that was the first thing I asked her. Apparently it came as no surprise, but he'd been asking her, and I was available, so she thought...” Bev trailed off with a shrug and a laugh. “But, now that we know each other I have an excuse to stop into his department and say hi. I think I can persuade him to ask Jimmy out.”

“And that's out of the goodness of your heart, right?”

“Of course! I mean, the chance to win a new phone from my cousin is definitely an incentive, but I'm just that sweet and caring that I would be willing to do this for a friend.”

“A friend you quite literally just met for the first time tonight, on an ill-fated date.”

“Not ill-fated, Will. Fate definitely put me in his path for a reason. And that reason is a brand new phone for me, and long-lasting romantic bliss for him.”

“Why do you need a new phone anyway?” Will asked. He was fairly certain Bev had used all the birthday money she had requested, only a few months ago, to buy a new one.

“Dude, have you seen what happened to this last week?”

She dug around in her pocket, brandishing the phone with a flourish. An enormous crack ran from the top left corner of the screen all the way to the bottom right. Will blinked, trying to remember if she had told him anything about it, but nothing came to mind.

“Bev. How the hell did you manage that?”

“Honestly? No idea,” she answered with a frown. “You remember how we had that work party last week?”

Will nodded. He'd been the one that had had to go and pick up a very inebriated Bev at two in the morning, despite having to be up at six for work.

“It happened sometime then. It was fine, the last time I remember seeing it at the party, but when I woke up the next morning it was like this.”

In Will's opinion, that was exactly the reason people shouldn't go and get drunk at parties. Or go to parties at all, for that matter. It had once been a source of great amusement to Bev, how much of a homebody Will was, but they'd been sharing an apartment for two years now and she was more than used to it. She was also now more aware of how overwhelming Will found crowds.

“In which case, I wish both you and your badly matched date all the luck in the world.”

“Thanks!” Bev answered brightly. “Though you should keep a little of that luck for yourself.”

Will shrugged. He felt like he had plenty of luck. He had a flatmate he could not only tolerate, but actively _liked_. The apartment itself could use some work, but it was liveable (and to be honest the draughts that came through the bad window seals were actually kind of pleasant during summer). His job was good. Yes, his boss was weird, but he wasn't a bad guy. He paid Will well, the job was flexible, and he got on with all his co-workers. All in all, Will was reasonably content with his life. Still, he appreciated the sentiment.

“Well, now that I know you're home safe and your date wasn't some sort of maniac, I'm heading off to bed,” said Will with an only half feigned yawn and stretch. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Will. Thanks for waiting up for me. I'll see you at the shop tomorrow, yeah?”

“No,” grumbled Will, but he knew it was futile. Bev would come anyway, and he would enjoy her company, just as he always did.

**

Will dusted his hands off after restocking the takeaway cups. It had been quite a breakfast rush, even by their normal busy standards. At least Hobbs would be happy. He was generally happy if there was money flowing into the till. Not that he would ever be there early enough for the breakfast crowd, not anymore. He watched Alana making her way over with a stack of used coffee cups, bound for the dishwasher.

“That was pretty busy, huh?” she asked, a soft smile gracing her face.

“Yeah. Unexpectedly so.”

“I like it when it's busy like that. Makes the day go faster.”

“You're right about that.”

Will continued restocking, a smile on his face. He liked Alana. More than liked her, at one stage, though that was well and truly over. The next ten minutes passed in much the same fashion. Will stayed behind the counter, serving the (now thankfully) much smaller number of customers and preparing for the brunch crew, while Alana tidied the tables and made sure all the dishes were washed. He wondered idly what time Bev was planning on showing up. His question didn't take long to be answered. Just before ten she strolled in, hard on the heels of Hobbs' daughter, Abigail.

“Hey, Will!” they both said in tandem before turning to look suspiciously at each other.

“Uh, hey.”

They turned back, comically still in unison, as though expecting an explanation. Abigail, at least, looked more unsure than anything.

“Sorry, uh, Bev, this is Abigail. Abigail Hobbs.”

“Oh! You're the bosses daughter!” Bev exclaimed, shoving her hand out. “I'm Bev. I'm a friend of Will & Alana's.”

Abigail smiled and took Bev's hand.

“Abigail,” she said with a smile. “Which Will just told you, so of course you already know that. Sorry.”

She shoved her hands in her pockets awkwardly and turned back to Will.

“Uh. Dad isn't coming in today, he told me to tell you. And to tell you to put me to work. I don't. Um. I don't really know what I'm supposed to do.”

Will smiled, a small soft spot for the still shy girl before him already developing.

“Alana is still clearing tables. You can help her, if you like. I've got this stuff more or less under control. Grab an apron and ask Alana where she'd like you to start.”

Abigail smiled, her relief undisguised. She nodded and moved off to leave her bag in the back, emerging moments later with her apron.

“So that's the bosses daughter,” said Bev. “She really is a kid, isn't she?”

“Yep,” said Will. “She seems nice.”

“But weird?”

“Shut up, Bev,” Will hissed. “She can probably hear you, you know.”

Bev looked over her shoulder.

“Nah, I was quiet and she's talking to Alana. Hey, Alana!” She waved as she yelled down to the other end of the store, drawing faintly irritated glances from the few customers who were scattered about the shop. Alana waved back, a beaming smile on her face, then made her way over with the last of the dirty dishes. She left Abigail wiping down the tables and deposited the tray next to the dishwasher, then made her way over to Will and Bev.

“You meeting your guy today?” Bev asked her with a sly grin.

Alana rolled her eyes.

“He's not _my guy_ , Bev. I've told you that a hundred times.

“Wait, Alana has a guy?” Will asked, confused. “Why didn't I know that?”

“Because I _don't_ have a 'guy'. Don't listen to Bev, she just thinks she's a matchmaker, no matter how off the mark she is.”

“You still haven't answered my question, though. Are you meeting him?” Bev asked, persistent as ever.

“Yeah,” answered Alana. “He has a couple of things I want to see, so he's bringing them in here. I was going to go in on the weekend and see him, but he's heading to Europe for a couple of weeks. He's nice enough to bring them in here, while I'm at work. He's probably not too far off, actually.”

“Wait, what?” Will was entirely confused now. Obviously something had happened that he'd completely missed out on hearing about.

“Alana's found a book guy,” Bev said.

“He's a guy who happens to have something I want to buy. That's it.”

“A guy who is suave and charming and just the right level of eccentric, according to Alana,” Bev continued, clearly enjoying this little game. Will had to admit, it was amusing to see Alana being the one teased, instead of himself.

“What are you buying? Or wanting to buy?” he asked, taking momentary pity on Alana and rescuing her from Beverly's good-natured mocking.

“Some old books,” she answered. Alana had for the last couple of years, been collecting old and antique medical texts. Will wasn't quite sure what had attracted her to them in the first place, but he had to admit that they were interesting. “He's an antiques dealer, and has a couple I might like to buy. He also has a couple I would definitely like to buy, but are out of my price range.”

“And he's bringing antique books into a coffee shop?” Will asked in disbelief.

“Not the really old ones. Just the ones I can afford on my barista wage. They're old, but not rare. Or not as rare as some of the ones he has, anyway.”

“Huh,” mused Will. He moved away from them to serve a customer, and by the time he got back to them the conversation had moved on. He worked on wiping down the counters, only half listening to what they were talking about.

“Everyone here is pretty close, huh?”

He jumped a little. Abigail stood beside him, twisting a towel in her hands. She looked a little lost, and Will felt himself warming to her even more.

“Yeah, we've all worked here for a couple of years now. You'll fit in though, if you end up sticking around any amount of time.”

He wondered if she would take the bait he dangled and willingly offer up some more information about herself. She didn't, though, instead just nodding and turning to move out the back.

“I'll unload the dishwasher?” she half asked, half stated as she moved through the door.

“Yeah, sure,” Will said. Alana and Bev seemed to have vanished. Will assumed that they'd ducked out to the staffroom so that Alana could show Bev whatever it was that she had planned to buy. Hobbs had a real thing about them pulling their phones out in front of customers, so they'd gotten into the habit of darting out whenever there was downtime, something he was far less bothered by.

The door to the shop opened, the little bell that had once annoyed him and now barely ever registered tinkling faintly. He glanced at the customer who entered without much real interest. He'd come up to the counter when he was ready to order, and in the meantime Will would make himself look busy by checking that the price signs on all the pastries were in the right places. Much to his surprise, the man approached the counter almost immediately. Normally people stood and looked at the board for a while, before ordering. Will straightened to find a very well-dressed man smiling benignly at him, his coat folded over his hands in front of him, and a briefcase peeking out from beneath the coat.

“Good morning,” he said, before Will even had a chance to launch into his usual welcome-how-may-I-serve-you routine. “May I please see Ms Alana Bloom? Please tell her Hannibal Lecter is here to see her.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Uh, Alana?”

Will poked his head around the corner of the staffroom door. As expected, Alana and Beverly had their heads together, peering down at something on Alana's phone. They looked around at him.

“Some guy is here to see you. Said his name is Hannibal Lecter.”

“Oh _shit_ ,” exclaimed Alana, looking up at the clock. “I meant to be out there to meet him and I lost track of time!”

“Wait,” said Beverly. “Is this _the guy_? Yes yes,” she continued, speaking over Alana's beginning protests, “I know he's not _your_ guy, not like that, but I've heard so much about him that I'm dying to meet him.”

Will watched, perplexed, as Alana shoved her phone back in her bag and straightened her apron.

“You'd like him too, Will,” she said off-handedly. “He's not pushy, but he does make you feel very at ease.”

Will doubted that.

“Anyway, I gotta head back to the counter. I'll send him over to the corner table?”

“Yeah, thanks Will.”

Will nodded and retreated again, making his way back behind the counter.

“Sorry about that,” he said. The man – Hannibal – nodded in acknowledgement. “She'll just be a second, so if you like you can wait over at that table there.”

He pointed to the far corner of the shop, watching as the visiting book seller followed the gesture.

“Thank you very much, Will,” he said, looking carefully at Will's name tag, and it was the way he said Will's name more than anything that really drew attention to his accent. Will found that fact more than just a little odd. It wasn't like the man's accent was faint. He smiled, his half smile that seemed to be used almost exclusively for work, and watched the man as he made his way to the back of the shop. He stood very straight, and kept that posture as he walked, but his gait was far from stiff. Rather, he almost glided his way across the floor. He was also a lot younger than Will had expected. When Alana had said he was an antiques dealer who was coming to sell her old books, he had imagined a hunched, dusty old man with very little hair. This was a much younger version than Will could have thought up. He couldn't have been any older than his late thirties, maybe early forties, tops. Things were still quiet, and he'd finished stocking up so he leaned back against the wall, making it look like he wasn't watching this strange man and his two friends meeting.

“What are they doing?”

For the second time that morning, Will jumped in surprise.

“Sorry!” Abigail exclaimed. “I keep doing that to people. Everyone says I walk too quietly. I think it's a hangover from when dad used to take me deer hunting.”

“You used to hunt?” Will asked, faintly surprised. Abigail didn't really look the type.

“Yeah. I didn't really like it though, so I stopped going with him. It made me feel bad, watching a deer that had never done anything to me dying just because I decided it should.”

“I can understand that,” said Will awkwardly, not really sure how he was meant to respond to that.

“Yeah,” said Abigail, clearly also at a loss. They both looked over at the table where Hannibal was now opening his briefcase, pulling out two books.

“Alana's buying – or thinking about buying, anyway – an old book. That guy is apparently an antiques dealer.”

“Huh.”

She hid her interest well, but Will could still see how intrigued she really was.

“She likes to collect old medical texts. I have no idea how she got started, but some of them are … well, let's just say I'm glad we live now and not a couple of hundred years ago.”

“Why does she collect them? Is she going to sell them one day?”

“She just likes them. Some people collect stamps, Alana collects morbid prints of the beginnings of the age of surgery.”

Abigail didn't answer, watching the table now with undisguised interest.

“Go on,” Will said. “You can go join them, if you want to see more.”

Abigail looked at him, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jeans.

“Really? You don't mind?”

“Nah. I'll call you guys if I need a hand.”

Abigail smiled, a genuine, bright thing unclouded by the shyness she had hidden behind the last couple of days.

“Thanks,” she said, and made her way to the table. Will smiled as he watched the little group made way for Abigail. Bev was looking at one of the books, occasionally smacking Alana on the arm and pointing something out. Hannibal sat with the same kindly shadow of a smile he had given Will. From back here, Will couldn't hear anything that was being said, but it looked cosy. For a group of people who, outside of Bev and Alana, didn't know each other too well, they seemed to have created a very welcoming atmosphere. Will tried to ignore the slightly chilly feeling he got when he became aware of the fact he was the only one not there. It was hardly personal.

With nothing better to do, he pushed off the wall and wandered his way over to the table, listening out for the sound of the bell above the door.

“I'm bored,” he announced, sneaking a glance at the books they were looking at. They looked old, but not as old as the photos of some of the ones Alana had shown him, the ones that were outside her price range. She'd managed to find one, once, that was published in the 1500s and cost nearly $150,000. The thought that someone could drop that sort of money on a single book was almost too much for Will to comprehend, no matter how old it was. “Anyone want a coffee?”

One of the perks of working there was unlimited free coffees, something everyone who worked there very quickly learned to self-regulate. Eight coffees a day _sounded_ like a good idea, but the effect it had on one's body meant that the staff rarely tried that after their first week.

“I'll have a mocha, if you don't mind. Thanks, Will!” Bev was the first to answer, which didn't surprise Will in the slightest. Alana was next, wanting just a chamomile tea - “I've been feeling a bit off, lately” was her explanation – while Abigail asked for a hot chocolate. Will looked at Hannibal.

“Would you like a coffee? On the house, while this lot are keeping you tied up.”

“Thank you for your kindness, Will. I'll take a black coffee, no sugar. As strong as you can make it, if that's not too much trouble.”

“Sure thing. I'll be back in a few,” he answered, spinning around and making his way back to the counter. He got to work, making the drinks and stacking them up on a tray to take over to the table, distributing them to the eagerly awaiting group. He couldn't help but notice it was Hannibal who cleared space on the table, long, elegant fingers deftly scooping up the old books and returning them to the briefcase, which he put on the floor beside him.

“Will you be joining us?” he asked as Will handed him his coffee, his face the picture of polite interest.

“No, someone needs to watch the counter. I made your coffee strong. Let me know if you need anything else.”

Hannibal accepted the cup with another small smile and a thank you, then turned back to Alana.

“If you need a little more time, Ms Bloom, I would be happy to hold one or both of the books aside for you,” he said, his attention now completely turned away from Will. It felt a little like someone had closed the door on him, in a very polite, friendly and yet quite definite way. Will smiled wanly, though he wasn't sure who at, given the way all of the others were listening in rapt attention to Hannibal, and made his way back to the counter. The brunch crowd began to make their way in from the cold, and soon enough he had forgotten all about it.

**

The rest of the day passed by in busy rushes of customers mixed with painfully quiet downtime. Abigail remained quiet, but she was a keen observer, and it was a lot of help to Will and Alana to have someone reliable to go out and clear tables so they could focus on the behind the counter jobs.

“Hannibal seems nice,” she said to Alana, as the latter closed and locked the door behind the last customer of the day.

“Yeah, he is,” came the slightly muffled reply, Alana stretching up to lock in the top bolt. “I've been going in to his store for the last few weeks.”

“Just for those books?”

“Yeah, someone online recommended him. He doesn't just sell books, though. He's got all sorts of things in there. It's turning into my favourite store, even if I can't buy half of what I like.”

Will listened to the two of them continue the conversation as he locked away the day's takings and helped with the clean up. He wondered what other sorts of things a man that dressed like that would collect in his shop. Maybe he could convince Alana to take him with her, the next time they had a day off together. He finished the last of his work, throwing the towels into the dry-cleaning bag to be picked up when they opened the next day then pulled his phone out, texting Bev to see if she wanted anything picked up for dinner on his way home. He laughed when the reply came immediately: _Something with chicken. I need chicken. And ice cream. Lots of it._

He grinned, grabbing his bag and heading for the door with Abigail and Alana. Abigail was much more smiley, more relaxed, than she had been the day before. He was glad she was feeling a bit more part of the crew.

“Hey Alana,” he said as they locked the door behind them and waved goodbye to Abigail. “Do you think I could come with you, next time you go to that guy's store?”

“I told you you'd like him,” answered Alana with a smirk. He just huffed, tugging his gloves on tightly. The temperature was dropping ridiculously quickly, and he doubted it would be very long until it started snowing.

“It's not him I like,” Will said. “But a store with all sorts of old things? It sounds interesting.”

Alana looked at him, a faintly puzzled look on her face.

“You've never shown any interest in coming to antique stores or rare bookshops with me before.”

Will shrugged. “It just looked fun, all of you sitting around the table, and it got me thinking. It could be interesting.”

Her face softened then. It was one of the very few things he _didn't_ like about her, though it was hardly a bad thing and certainly not a deal breaker. She always had had a certain tendency to feel pity for him.

“It's not like that,” he said, trying to reign in his irritation. “Forget about it.”

“Will, I'd love it if you'd come with me,” she said, touching him gently on the arm. “Hannibal really is a great guy, from what I know of him, and he'd be more than happy to let you look around unbothered. And it _is_ a really interesting place. I think you'd enjoy it.”

“Great,” he said. “When's our next day off?”

“Tuesday,” she answered after a moment's thought, “but he's off to Europe so he won't be back for a couple of weeks. I think he's closing up the shop while he's gone. I've never seen anyone else working there.”

Will nodded.

“We'll sort something out, then. I better get going, Bev is demanding chicken and ice cream.”

“Ew. Not together, I hope.”

Will laughed and shook his head.

“I'll see you tomorrow?”

“Yep, see you tomorrow Will. You have a good night.”

They parted ways, each headed in the opposite direction. Will was never particularly keen on those all day shifts, but they paid extra, which was why he and Alana volunteered for them so frequently. He made his way to the grocery store where he could pick up things for dinner and headed home.

**

“I know it's take out night, but I didn't want take out so I got things for alfredo,” he announced as he entered the apartment. “And also your ice cream. On a day where I _think_ it's probably cold enough to get ice cream directly from a cow.”

Bev was curled up on the couch beneath a blanket, engrossed in a book, but she still somehow found the co-ordination to throw a pillow directly at Will without so much as looking.

“And thank you for your kindness, Will,” she said, sliding a bookmark into place and closing the book. “You should have told me you didn't want take out! I've been sitting here reading all evening. I could have had something ready to go for you when you came in.”

“It was a spur of the moment thing,” he answered, dropping the bags on the counter. “Felt like cooking, you wanted chicken...”

“You need any help?”

“No, it shouldn't take long.”

He got to work, putting the ice cream in the freezer and pulling out pots and pans. It didn't take long until he had two plates piled high with hot, creamy fettuccine alfredo and chicken, which he carried over to Bev. They ate together with their plates on the coffee table in front of them. Will hadn't realised just how hungry he was until he took his first forkful, and he finished his dinner in an embarrassingly quick time.

“How is it possible,” he said as he wiped his mouth after his last bite, “that you knew all about that Hannibal guy and his books and I've never heard a word about him?”

“I'm not sure,” Bev said. “I was kinda surprised that you didn't know. I really did think Alana was into him, at first, but after meeting him I can see why she likes him, but doesn't _like_ _him_ like him.”

“Is there something wrong with him?” Will asked, unsure if he should worry or not.

“No, not at all. I just don't think he's really Alana's type. And more to the point, I sorta get the impression she isn't _his_ type.”

“Huh,” said Will, gazing thoughtfully at his empty plate.

“He's pretty good looking though, right?”

Will turned to look at her suspiciously, but Bev was entirely focused on her food.

“I guess,” he said. “If you go for overly put together types.”

“Oh come on. Just because someone actually styles their hair and wears nice suits doesn't mean they're 'overly put together'.”

“I'm going to go with Alana to see his store, when he's back from wherever he's going.” As far as changes of topic went, that was neither smooth, nor particularly effective. Will couldn't quite pinpoint what was making him feel not exactly uncomfortable, but mildly on edge at least.

“Europe. He's visiting family and looking for things to bring back. I didn't know you were into that sort of thing,” she said, slurping up the last strand of fettuccine. “This was amazing, by the way. You're going to make someone very happy one day.”

“I'm hurt. You mean I don't make you very happy?”

“You know what I mean, Graham.”

“How do you know so much about this guy?” Will said, ignoring the jibe. “I thought you'd never met him before.”

“I hadn't. He was telling us about it.”

“I didn't even see you guys leave.”

“You were busy. He said to tell you that yours was the best coffee he's ever had though. I get the impression that's supposed to be quite a compliment.”

Will just smiled. It was always nice to get compliments about his work, especially from people who didn't _have_ to. Despite that, he didn't think theirs was the sort of place someone like Hannibal would be coming back to.

“Ice cream?”

Bev pulled him out of his train of thought, standing and looking down at him with a peculiar expression.

“Yeah, thanks. Chocolate sauce, too?” he asked hopefully.

“Can do!”

Bev turned and walked to the freezer, leaving Will to his musings.

**

Two weeks passed, and there was barely a word of their trip to the antique store. Will couldn't quite figure out why he was so on edge about that fact. He reasoned that it was because it was something different, something he'd never really given much thought to before, and now that it was planned he just wanted to do it; it was a bit like whenever he planned a vacation. Once the decision was made, he just wanted to _go_. He had tried asking Alana, but she had just made noises about a 're-opening email' being sent out once Hannibal was back, and had left it at that. Will had followed her lead, and said nothing more about it.

Today was turning out to be a relatively slow day. They had had the lunch rush, and now Will was refilling the pastry cabinet in preparation for the afternoon staff arriving. The bell above the door jingled every few minutes as the lunchtime laggers made their way outside, a sound that Will's mind filtered away until he was completely unaware of it. He focused on his work, letting Alana take care of any customers who might come in. He was _so_ focused on leaning in to restock the front of the cabinet, in fact, that he didn't even hear Alana when she said she was taking a quick bathroom break, and so failed to notice the shadow in front of the counter.

“Excuse me...”

Will jumped, banging his head on the edge of the opening. He winced, straightening up and trying to resist grabbing a what was probably an already sizeable lump on the back of his head.

“Sorry,” he said, looking up and trying to maintain at least a semblance of professionalism.

“It is I who should be apologising,” came the reply.

“Oh, uh, hi. Hannibal, right?”

Will mentally kicked himself, especially when Hannibal gave a small half smile in response.

“Indeed it is. It is a pleasure to see you again, Will.”

“How was your trip to Europe?”

“It was pleasant. I enjoyed myself very much, thank you.”

His smile grew, just the hint of teeth showing. Will was transfixed by the way Hannibal's attention was so completely focused on him. Eye contact was something Will normally felt less than comfortable with, but for some reason he found that he couldn't break it with Hannibal.

“Uh,” Will said, trying to break what seemed to him to be an awkward silence, though Hannibal seemed entirely at ease. “Alana's … uh … somewhere, if you were here to speak to her.”

“I'd be quite happy to speak to Ms Bloom, but in fact I am here for you.”

Will froze for a moment, an entire novel's worth of (mainly) bad reasons why someone he barely knew would come to see him at work running through his mind.

“Or rather, your coffee,” Hannibal continued, leading to Will visibly slumping a little in relief. “I've never had one quite like it. I had thought maybe it was the particular bean you use, but I when I came in yesterday you weren't here and while good, it wasn't the quite the same.”

“Oh! Uh, thank you, I guess,” Will said, his relief now showing itself in the form of a smile and blush that wouldn't leave. “You have it strong, yeah?” He tried very hard to hide the fact that such a seemingly small and useless piece of information had been retained in his mind for the last few weeks, as though it were the first coffee he had ever made. It was ridiculous, but that was the way it was. “Anything else?”

“The pastries look enticing. Perhaps I'll try the apple one,” he answered, pointing. Will got one out for him and rang the items up, the tiniest of jolts running through him when Hannibal handed his card over, their fingers brushing minutely. Hannibal smiled as he took the card back, and took his pastry to one of the far tables. Will busied himself at the coffee machine, making the drink the same way he had the first time. His eyes kept drifting to the table where Hannibal sat leaning back in a chair, his long legs crossed and a newspaper open in front of him. Will could imagine him being just as at ease in a leather wingback chair, the smoke from a pipe swirling about his head as he was here, in these more modern surroundings.

Coffee made, he made his way over to where he sat, carefully placing the cup before him as Hannibal folded his newspaper away.

“One black coffee, extra strong,” he said. “I can remake it for you, if it's not what you want.”

He watched in apprehension as Hannibal lifted the cup to his lips, eyes closed as he took a sip. He seemed to be savouring it as a wine taster would, until he swallowed slowly, his tongue emerging briefly to gently swipe across his lips.

“Perfect,” he pronounced, his eyes once more seeking out and making contact with Will's. “There is something to be said for finding the right barista.”

Will's flush grew greater and he smiled, suddenly eager to be almost _anywhere_ else.

“Good,” he said. “If you need anything, I'll be over there. Though only for a little longer. Only on a half day today, then Franklin will be in to take over.”

He had no idea why he'd just told Hannibal that, though the other man, to his credit, at least had the decency to pretend to be interested.

“Then today I shall savour this all the more,” he said, his eyes filled with warmth.

“Okay then,” Will said, nodding and half shuffling his way back to the counter. “I'll just be over there.”

Hannibal smiled once more and Will could have kicked himself. Of _course_ he would be over there. Where else would he be, and more to the point, why on earth would this man who looked more together than anyone Will had ever met, who was just a customer who had stopped in for a coffee, _care_ where he was? He hurried back, hiding himself behind the coffee machine where he began ferociously scrubbing the sparkling clean surfaces to a below-his-breath chant of _fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

“Should I even ask?” Alana said as she glided up behind him, retying her apron.

“No. Wait. _Fuck._ No.”

“You want me to drag it out of you, I take it?”

“He's _hot_ ,” Will blurted out, then sagged as he realised there was no point in denying it. “He's so fucking hot.”

“Who?” Alana hissed, eyes scanning the room, until they alighted on Hannibal. “Oh, Hannibal's here!” She stopped abruptly as realisation dawned, turning to Will with her eyes wide. “Is _that_ why you've been so keen to come to the store with me?” she asked, a smile curling the edges of her lips.

“No! I mean. I only just noticed it now. Maybe.”

“Well, you're not wrong. He's definitely _very_ attractive.”

“Bev said you weren't really into him!” Will exclaimed almost desperately, fighting to keep his voice low enough for it not to carry to Hannibal. He was very pleased the man had chosen to sit at one of the furthest points away. Far enough for their almost whispered voices not to carry, anyway.

“Relax, Will, I'm not,” Alana said with a laugh. “I'm just saying I can understand. He's hot. And charming on top of that.”

“He didn't like the coffee yesterday. He came in today just so that I could make it.”

Alana smiled again, though it was more of a scheming smile.

“You made an impression, then,” she said, sounding impressed. Will merely sighed.

“I'm so screwed. Here's hoping I can get over this quickly.”

“He's coming,” Alana whispered, stepping forward with a smile. “Hi, Hannibal!” she said brightly, as though she and Will hadn't just been in the midst of conversation. “I didn't know you were back.”

“Good afternoon, Ms Bloom. I arrived back yesterday. I'm reopening the shop tomorrow, if you would be interested in coming to see the books again.”

“Yeah, I'd love to! I've got the day off, so I'll come in in the afternoon. Will here wants to take a look as well, if you don't mind him poking around while I decide which one I want to get.”

Will tensed up, then started scrubbing at the counter top.

“Not at all. I would be honoured.”

Will looked sharply at Hannibal, searching for any signs of teasing, but there were none. He nodded, hiding his smile by ducking his head again.

“I shall see you both tomorrow, then,” said Hannibal, holding out a hand to shake Alana's. He turned then, holding it out for Will, who could only stand and blink stupidly at it until Alana nudged his foot with hers. Will took Hannibal's hand in his, the grip firm but not hard, Hannibal's skin warm and dry and soft. He looked up into his eyes again, confused by the way he couldn't read him at all. There was no jolt at the physical contact this time, not like when they'd accidentally brushed digits when Hannibal had passed the card over. What there was was a warmth spreading through him, flowing from Hannibal's hand throughout his body.

“Tomorrow,” he managed to agree, before Hannibal released his hand and walked out of the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So all these chapters are ending up longer than I would normally make them, because apparently none of them will stop talking. Sorry! :P ♥


	3. Chapter 3

“Alana, I don't even have tomorrow off!” Will hissed the moment the door closed behind Hannibal.

“I'm sure you can swap with Franklyn. Look, he's coming in now!”

True to her word, Franklyn was just pushing the door to the coffee shop open, his bearded, beaming face greeting them more than his words did. Will liked Franklyn, he did. He just couldn't spend too much time with him. Or near him. Or really speak to him about anything. Even still, he forced a smile to his face the same as he always did.

“Franklyn, hi!” he called out. “Can you do me a favour?”

Alana shot him a look, but Will shrugged it off. There was no point making small talk. Franklyn wasn't stupid.

“Sure!” Franklyn said, his smile growing impossibly wider.

“Can you cover for me tomorrow? I've got, um. An appointment.” The lie slid off his tongue easily. Well, it wasn't _really_ a lie, he reasoned with himself. They had arranged to go, even if Will hadn't exactly been a full party to the conversation.

“Oh,” answered Franklyn, his smile fading a little and his face growing apologetic. “I could in the afternoon, but I'm busy in the morning.”

“That's fine,” said Alana, interjecting smoothly. “I'm taking him to his appointment and it's not until the afternoon anyway.”

“I hope it's nothing too serious!” Franklyn's face was now going from apologetic to worried. “I could try and rearrange my schedule tomorrow, if it's urgent -”

“Franklyn, thanks, but no, it's nothing serious. It's an appointment about a book.” Will shot Alana a look as he cut off Franklyn's train of thought that would doubtless involve him becoming convinced Will was dying. “Really, if you can't do it, that's fine.”

“Oh, well in that case, I can be here by lunchtime. Would that be okay for you?”

Will blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected it to be quite that easy.

“Yeah. Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks, Franklyn. Let me know when you want me to repay it, okay?”

“A favour for a friend needs no repayment, Will. Just tell me all about your book when I see you next.”

Will smiled, grateful for the man's constant pleasantness for a change, and more than just a touch guilty because of it.

“Thank you,” he said, entirely earnest.

“No problem. Now get going. I'll see you tomorrow!” Franklyn beamed as he tied his apron behind his back. Will nodded in thanks once more, then went out to the staffroom to grab his things, meeting Alana outside.

“See? Told you it'd be fine.”

“Yeah, but now I feel guilty making Franklyn come in on his day off just so I can go with you to a book store.”

“Well, if it alleviates your guilt, I happen to know that Franklyn is saving up to go on vacation, so asked me if I could let him know if there are any extra hours going. So you're kind of doing him a favour.”

That fact _did_ help to relieve Will's guilt, just a little bit. The two of them said their goodbyes and arranged to meet outside the shop once Will had finished work. Will watched as Alana walked away, suddenly filled with more than a little nervous excitement. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough. He made his way home, stopping to collect things for dinner on the way. Technically it was Bev's turn to cook tonight, but Will needed to do _something_ to distract himself. He couldn't even rightly say where this nervousness had come from; yes, he had come to the realisation that Hannibal was more than just a little attractive, and yes he was going to see him tomorrow, but he was under no illusions as to whether it would go any further. The man was not just attractive, he was clearly well-off, and charming, and doubtless had any number of admirers to choose from. Still, Will couldn't deny that he enjoyed these beginning stages of attraction to someone. There was something exciting about it, when all things were possible and nothing had turned out to be disappointing.

Reaching the apartment, he kicked the door open and dropped his shopping bags on the table. It didn't take long until he deep in the throws of making a roast chicken for the two of them. It was a quick and easy dinner to make for them, with the added bonus of having plenty of leftovers for the next day's lunch. And more to the point, it was wonderful comfort food on a cold winter's night. It was that fact, probably more than any other that had Bev questioning him when she arrived home.

“It's my cooking night. Why are you cooking? Are you okay?” she asked once she'd settled in.

“Yeah, I'm fine. Just need to work off some energy.”

“And try to feel more secure, by the looks of it.”

“Seriously, Bev. I'm fine. Though maybe you do have a point.”

“Okay, now you have to tell me what the deal is, so I can decide whether to worry or not.”

Will didn't answer immediately, focusing all his attention on the potatoes he was peeling.

“Alana's dragging me out to her guy's bookshop tomorrow,” he said off-handedly, as though it was something completely unrelated to their previous conversation.

“Is he her guy? I thought he wasn't. I was _sure_ he wasn't.”

“Okay, not _her_ guy. But the guy. You know the one.”

“Yeah. You wanted to go there, right?”

“I did.”

Bev didn't answer, but Will was keenly aware of the thoughtful way in which she watched him. They made small talk after that, Bev telling him about her day and him doing the same, until dinner was cooked and served. They sat together at the counter, eating more or less in silence until Bev finally spoke again.

“So what is it about going to see an antiques store that's got you nervous?” she asked. It would have seemed an innocent question, if Will didn't know her so well. He debated whether or not to tell her, but he'd already told Alana. It wouldn't really be fair to tell her and not Bev, given Bev was the one who would bear the brunt of whatever frustration would be born of this interest he seemed to have developed.

“It occurred to me today that Hannibal is hot. _Really_ hot.”

“Duh,” said Bev around a mouthful of potato and chicken. “I told you that the first time we met him. I seem to remember you not really agreeing.”

“He came in today especially to have me make him another coffee.”

“Did he really?” Bev was definitely interested now, not even trying to disguise it. She watched Will with sparkling eyes as she ate, waiting for him to decide what more to tell her.

“Apparently he came in yesterday as well, but the coffee wasn't as good.”

“The coffee, or the barista?” Bev half teased, her grin growing wide now.

“He only just got back from Europe yesterday, so he probably wasn't really up to properly enjoying a coffee. Jetlag always leaves people gulping caffeine without really tasting it.”

“Wait. He got back from Europe and that very same day goes to see the cute barista he met _once,_ two weeks ago?”

Will smiled and ducked his head, blushing a little.

“I don't think it was _me_ ,” he said, happily flustered. “He just wanted coffee -”

“Will. Your coffee's good, I'm not denying that. It's great coffee. But it's not _that_ good. I think you've caught his eye; I _told_ you I didn't think Alana was his type.”

Will grinned again and took another bite of his food. His excitement was only growing now.

**

The morning _dragged_ for Will. It seemed like every minute lasted an hour, and as the clock gradually ticked its way towards noon it felt like it was getting progressively slower and slower. Abigail, now working shifts in her own right, watched Will with increasing amusement.

“You know if you keep staring at a clock, time stands still, right?”

“I'm starting to believe it,” Will said, slightly bitter that the busyness of the morning rush had done exactly nothing to help distract him from clock watching.

“What are you waiting for anyway?” she asked. She was unstacking the dishwasher, and Will had noticed that she liked to chat while doing that, now that she was feeling much more comfortable around everyone.

“Nothing that exciting,” he lied. “Alana's coming here and then we're heading off to visit her bookshop guy.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Abigail. “I didn't realise you and Alana were...” She waved her hand in the air as she trailed off, looking surprised.

“No! No, we're not. Nothing going on there.”

“Oh. Okay. Sorry, I just assumed by the way you said it. Sorry, I should just … not assume.”

Abigail looked a little embarrassed, leaving Will feeling a little sorry for her.

“You know you shouldn't assume things.”

Abigail whirled around, surprised by the unexpected interruption.

“ _God_ , don't scare me like that!” she exclaimed as her father rounded the corner.

“See? That's exactly what I mean. If you hadn't been assuming no one could sneak up on you, I wouldn't have been able to.”

Hobbs rubbed his hand on Abigail's head, messing her hair up with an affectionate smile.

“ _Stop it_ ,” hissed Abigail, though her own smile was showing. “God you're so embarrassing.”

“Sorry, sorry,” said Hobbs, stepping back with his hands in the air. “I'll try to remember you're just another employee here and not my baby girl.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“Anyway, what were you assuming?” he asked. “Give me the gossip.”

“I thought Will and Alana were together, but it turns out they're not.”

“Oh that. Everyone assumes that. I should probably stop assuming that people will stop assuming that.”

“Dad. Stop. Seriously.”

Will watched the back and forth banter between the two of them and smiled. They clearly had well established roles they played in these conversations, and he couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like to be close to a parent like that.

“So you're leaving early today?”

Hobbs had switched his attention to Will now, leaving Abigail to continue with her work.

“Yeah, Franklyn is coming in at lunch time to cover the end of my shift. I hope that's alright.”

“As long as someone is here and it's all been written down so I pay the right person, I'm a-okay with it.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

Hobbs winked at Will and shot him finger guns, then ambled his way back out to his office. Will shook his head, wondering as ever how he had ended up like that. And if there was any situation in which he _wouldn't_ be slightly kooky.

He tried his best from then on to avoid looking at the time, and while it didn't make lunch arrive particularly quickly, it at least wasn't going _quite_ as slowly as it had been. When Franklyn arrived – a conscientious fifteen minutes early as always – Will had even managed to almost get himself feeling nonchalant about the whole thing. Of course, that all changed with Franklyn's cheery hello and thanks for the extra hours, when reality came crashing back into Will like a freight train. He signed himself out, grabbed his bag and coat, and stood outside the door to wait for Alana. It wasn't a long wait.

“Should I ask why you look like you're about to bolt?” she asked good-naturedly as she approached Will.

“I'm not. I'm fine. I just...”

He trailed off helplessly and shoved his hands further into his pockets. Alana just waited. She'd learned early on that Will just needed time to sort things out in his head before he chose to speak.

“I just realised I haven't done this in a _really_ long time.”

“No, I guess you haven't.” Her tone was kind, but they both knew what he was referring to. “But it's just a visit, and you just think he's hot. It doesn't have to mean anything that you don't want it to.”

“I'm aiming way too high, aren't I?” he asked.

“Not at all. Will, if you could have seen the way you two looked at each other yesterday, to say nothing of how long that 'hand-shake' lasted...”

She smiled, the quotes around 'hand-shake' very clear to Will. He smiled.

“And even if nothing happens,” continued Alana, “there's something fun about getting to know someone new, isn't there? Hannibal seems like he'd make a really good friend.”

“He does seem very kind.”

“He is.”

They walked along the cold streets. Will pulled his hands from his pockets occasionally to blow on them, cursing himself for forgetting his gloves. The store was surprisingly close; Will was amazed he'd never really seen it before. It was a small store-front, tucked away down a small but light alleyway. The door was all dark wood and shaded glass, with small gold letters reading “Lecter's Antiques”. Alana pushed the door open and entered, a small bell tingling above them. The store itself turned out to be deceptively large, pushing back deep into the building. Faint music, only loud enough to register as music but not to be able to tell exactly what it was floated through the air. They were surrounded by all manner of things; to his left was a display of beautiful old rocking horses, to the right an eclectic array of crockery and tableware. He could see the bookshelves that had obviously attracted Alana towards the back of the store, beside a small stand of telescopes. So taken in was he that he didn't even notice the small desk in the centre of the store until Hannibal stood.

“Will, Ms Bloom, welcome.”

It felt like the bottom dropped out of Will's stomach when Hannibal spoke. His voice was so rich and deep and _wonderfully_ accented, and he made the single syllable of Will's name sound like something precious. He was also painfully aware of the way Hannibal's glance at Alana transformed into a lingering gaze when it was switched to Will, his attention so absolute that it was all Will could do to keep his knees from buckling under it. Dimly he was aware of Alana saying something, but it felt like he was under water. All sound was muffled, disconnected, like it was coming from a million miles away. The sensation only broke when Hannibal looked away, his head turning before he allowed his eyes to break contact with Will's. Suddenly Will was aware of his surroundings again, his heart pounding hard in his chest. He blinked, trying to concentrate on what Alana and Hannibal were talking about. They were discussing the books, Alana still trying to decide which one of them she wanted.

“Uh, do you guys mind if I take a look around while you're sorting this out?” he asked at the first lull in their conversation.

“Be my guest,” Hannibal answered as Alana nodded. “Let me know if there is anything that captures your interest.”

Will merely nodded and shuffled away, all too aware that he was at risk of saying something beyond just embarrassing if he opened his mouth. He left the two of them alone, shuffling off through the warren of shelves and tables, trying to regather himself. He'd never experienced anything even remotely like that before; the way the world fell away and he could only see or hear one person. To call it disconcerting would be an understatement of the most extreme kind. And yet, a tiny kernel at his very centre called out for more of it. He had no idea what any of it meant.

He moved his way further into the back of the store, past the bookshelves and towards a stand of furniture. There were tables of all sizes and chairs to match. In the corner he could see a couple of chests, ornate carving across their lids. And _clocks._ There were clocks everywhere, adorning the walls and surfaces. Some ticked, most were still and silent, but all were beautiful. Standing between two display shelves was a towering grandfather clock, its chimes and massive silver pendulum sparkling behind the glass door. To his left what looked like a cuckoo clock quietly began to chime the hour, though instead of a cuckoo two pairs of dancing figures, one on each side, emerged to twirl the time away.

Even having met Hannibal, even having entered the shop, Will still had the feeling that everything should look and smell dusty and old, but it didn't. The whole place, as tucked away as it was, was well-lit, and while there was a distinct atmosphere of provenance, it felt oddly full of life. He trailed a hand over the smooth curves of a large mantel clock as he walked slowly through the furniture. He was amused to find a leather wingback armchair, not entirely dissimilar to the one he had imagined Hannibal looking at home in. He couldn't resist sitting in it himself. The leather was old, but well cared for. It was soft and supple, warm, the wings of the chair wrapping around to block out everything but what was in front of him. He closed his eyes, surprised by how comfortable the chair was. It wasn't just Hannibal he could see in a chair like this. He could see himself in one, too. Maybe not with the pipe that the Hannibal in his mind seemed to have, but certainly with a book or a newspaper. Perhaps there would be a fireplace between them, to round out the image.

“I see something has captured your interest.”

Will leapt out of the chair in fright, embarrassed at having been caught by Hannibal and Alana, half convinced that they could somehow see into his mind and were all too aware of what he had been imagining. He glanced at them again in mild shame only to notice that Alana wasn't there at all; there was only Hannibal standing before him, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched Will with a soft smile.

“S-sorry,” stammered Will. “It's probably not good to sit on this furniture, is it?”

He could feel his face flushing hotter and hotter. He had no doubt that if he were to look in one of the many mirrored surfaces in the store he would see that his face was as bright a red as it had ever been, a fact which only caused him to grow even more flushed.

“On the contrary,” said Hannibal, his voice still calm and quiet. “I like potential buyers to feel as comfortable as they possibly can with their purchases. It's so much easier than trying to arrange a return for something they decide they don't like.”

“I – I'm not … I don't think I could afford this anyway,” Will said, gesturing helplessly in the vague direction of the chair. “I don't know where I would put it.”

“Luckily enough, then, that that piece is not for sale. It is from my personal collection. It is here merely for people to rest their feet, should they need it.”

Will reached up, rubbing at the back of his neck in mild consternation.

“I like your clocks,” he said, then immediately winced at his truly pathetic attempt at small talk. It really had been too long, and it showed.

“Thank you,” said Hannibal, finally looking away from Will to look at the dozens of clocks. “They are, alas, not as sought after as once they were, but these things often tend to go in cycles. I can't say I'm particularly upset about them being in a lull phase; I often find it hard to part with them.”

“Do they all work?” Will asked, interested despite himself in Hannibal's apparent fascination with the varied timepieces on display.

“They do. I don't keep them all wound all of the time; it gets dreadfully noisy in here with that number of clocks ticking and chiming. But they all get their turns, and are all maintained.”

“They're all beautiful,” Will said, and he meant it.

“Are there any that stand out to you?” Hannibal asked. Will looked around, unsure if there were any, but then he saw one. It was a mantel clock, carved in some sort of lighter wood, with darker strips inlaid. The numbers of the clock face were small squares of what he assumed to be ivory. What made it stand out to him, though, was the carving itself. Swirls of flower and leaves surrounded the clock face, and standing atop was a stag, antlers spreading out. It reminded him a lot – almost too much – of the type of carving he and his father would do, when he was young and his father was still alive. Hannibal watched him as he looked at it.

“The stag,” Hannibal said, stepping forward. “I have a particular fondness for that one myself. It is perhaps not the most beautiful, in the conventional sense, of the clocks I have here, but it has a certain _je ne sais quoi_ that appeals to some people. You and I seem to have both seen it.”

“What type of wood is it? Will asked, trying his best to ignore the way Hannibal had made his way closer to Will.

“Walnut,” came the answer. They stood next to each other now, close enough that Will thought he could feel the heat from Hannibal's body. “Inlaid with ebony. It was carved in 1884, and sat on the mantelpiece of a mansion in Lithuania until I brought it here some years ago.”

“And it's been sitting here all this time?” Will asked, slightly astounded that anything could sit in a shop for that long.

“It has. Though I must confess that my soft spot for it has often led to me hiding it behind other, more commonly sought after pieces.”

“What will you do if someone does buy it, one day?”

“I haven't given it much thought. Perhaps I should remove it, in case that unlikely event ever occurs. Though now that you've shown interest...” he trailed off, looking at Will with a questioning expression.

“I don't think I'll be able to afford any antiques any time soon,” Will said, shaking his head firmly. “Even if I could, I wouldn't have anywhere to put it. My apartment is a little on the small side.”

“Antiques are not necessarily expensive. As I said, things move in cycles. One type of antique may suddenly become fashionable, driving the prices of all the pieces up, and then just as suddenly collectors will lose interest, causing prices to fall once more.”

Will looked at the clock thoughtfully, then turned his head away.

“Bev'd probably hate it anyway,” he said with a wry grin.

“Bev?” Hannibal asked, though there was something in the way he said it that left Will in no doubt that he knew exactly who he was talking about. He played along anyway.

“I think you met her, when you brought the books in for Alana to see. Kinda short, kinda loud?”

“Ah yes,” he replied, his face remaining neutral. “You must make a wonderful pair.”

Will was lost for a moment, before his slightly stunned brain caught up.

“No!” he exclaimed, a little too loudly. “I mean, no. We're not – she's my flatmate. That's all.”

Will knew he wasn't imagining the _almost_ imperceptible brightening of Hannibal's face. It brought a smile to his own, just a small one, but one he had no control over.

“I see,” said Hannibal, his voice as calm as ever. “In which case, I apologise for rushing to conclusions.”

“It's fine,” Will said, his grin growing wider against his will.

“I hope I'm not offending any currently absent partners.”

Hannibal's gaze had shifted back to the clock, now, but Will couldn't take his eyes off him. He was _almost_ certain he was being flirted with, even though Hannibal was giving no overt physical cues, nor was his tone particularly flirtatious.

“No,” he said softly, his smile now softening. “It's just me.”

Hannibal nodded, the corners of his lips turning up in a not-smile of his own. Will chewed on his bottom lip, shoving his hands into his pockets and then immediately pulling them back out again. He knew what he _wanted_ to ask; he just wasn't sure if he _should_.

_Fuck it,_ he thought, and took a breath.

“Oh, there you are!

Will jumped slightly, startled at the interruption. Hannibal turned smoothly beside him to face Alana, someone Will was always pleased to see but wished on this one occasion that she'd stayed away just another minute longer.

“Have you made your decision?” Hannibal asked, stepping away from Will, towards Alana. All Will could do was bite the corner of his lip one more time as Hannibal moved away.

“I have!” said Alana, her face its usual picture of sunny radiance. That brightness clouded a little when she looked at Will.

“I can come back later though, if you guys were in the middle of something...” She looked apologetically at Will, mouthing a quick 'sorry' when Hannibal turned to look at him.

“It's nothing we can't pick up at another time, I think?” He was watching Will carefully as he spoke, something that sent a small shiver through Will. He nodded slowly.

“Yeah. Yeah, we can keep talking about that later,” he said, acutely aware of the flush that must be dusting his cheeks. Again.

Hannibal smiled at him, a proper smile this time, his eyes crinkling at the corners and _oh_ if that didn't stab right at the very core of Will.

“Then continue it we shall,” said Hannibal, his voice warm and gentle. “Shall we?” he continued, turning to Alana.

“Sure!” she replied, turning to make her way back to the centre of the shop. Will trailed along behind them, looking around to the other corners and hidden spaces he had yet to explore. He wasn't entirely sure, but it looked like there was a taxidermy display, which was not something he had expected. Then again, he had no idea _what_ he should have been expecting, either from the shop or the man who owned it.

He didn't really listen as Hannibal carefully packaged and rang up Alana's book, his eyes constantly being drawn back in the direction of the clocks. He felt quite sure that he wasn't going to be able to look at an old clock like those without thinking of Hannibal again, of remembering the closeness of him, and the first beginnings of flirtation. It had been so long since he'd last felt like this, about anyone. It was nice.

“And you, Will.”

The sound of his name pulled Will back to reality, and he looked over at Hannibal who was bent over, writing on something.

“If you have any further questions, please let me know. You can reach me on any of the numbers here.”

He handed Will a business card. It was heavier than the ones Will was used to seeing, off white and embossed, the writing a subdued copper colour. It seemed to make sense that Hannibal would have such understated, tasteful business cards. Will turned it over in his fingers, and only then did he notice it was _that_ that Hannibal had been writing on. On the back, in an impossibly elegant, flowing script was a mobile number, quite different from the one printed on the front. He looked up at Hannibal, but his face remained unreadable. Will could only blink, staring back at him until Alana cleared her throat.

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “I'll, um. I'll let you know.”

He could have kicked himself for not showing more interest, but it was all he could do to process what Hannibal had given him. He still had trouble reading Hannibal's intentions the way he normally would, but somehow he doubted the man gave his personal number out to just anyone.

“Thanks, Hannibal,” Alana said after another few moments of silence.

“Thank _you_ , Ms Bloom. I hope you enjoy it.”

They said their goodbyes then, Will needing to be prompted by Alana once more. They walked out of the store, stepping out into the chill of the street.

“Let me see that,” Alana said once they had walked a few steps from the shop door. She grabbed at Will's hand, the one still holding tightly to the business card.

“I knew it!” she all but squealed, her face splitting into a wide smile. “You better put that somewhere safe, before you lose it. Are you going to call him?”

“I – I don't know.”

“Will. Call him.”

“I have no idea what I would even say to him!”

Alana sighed in good-natured exasperation.

“You call about whatever it was you were talking about!”

“Um.”

Will wasn't entirely sure how to explain that one. They _had_ been talking about clocks, but then the conversation had changed to Will's romantic partners, or lack thereof. He wasn't entirely sure which of two topics Hannibal was referring to.

“Wait. What _were_ you talking about?”

“Clocks. And whether or not I was with anyone.”

“Well, now at least we _know_ he's definitely interested in you.”

Will tried to argue with her, but she cut him off before he managed to get so much as half a word out.

“Will, people don't look at other people the way he looked at you if they're not interested. _And_ he gave you his card, with his personal number hand-written on the back. He's never done that for me. He's never given me his card _at all_ , and I'm the one actually buying things from him.”

“Why would someone like him be interested in someone like me?”

“Will. You're a _very_ good-looking man. You're kind, and you're smart, and you make a _fantastic_ cup of coffee. What's not to like?”

“You didn't.” The words just slipped out of his mouth, and he immediately regretted it. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean -”

“It's fine. We just weren't compatible, is all. And I know for a fact it was the same on your end as it was on mine,” Alana said with a gentle smile. Will nodded, still feeling uncomfortable but knowing she was right. It was an entirely mutual decision to not take things any further between them.

“And anyway. You might not really _know_ each other yet, and I may not know Hannibal all that well, but I do know you. I think you two might really work.”

“Thanks, Alana.”

Will smiled, and tucked the card safely into his wallet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, my version of a not fucked up cannibalistic serial killing Garrett Jacob Hobbs may or may not have been at least a little influenced by Vlad himself.


	4. Chapter 4

While Will took the step of programming the number into his phone, he didn't call Hannibal that night. Nor did he call him the next. By the third day, he had almost managed to convince himself that Hannibal didn't mean it, and was only being nice to him out of some sort of pity, no matter how illogical that train of thought may have been. And by the fifth night? He had decided that he'd well and truly missed his window.

“Just call him.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can't!” Will exclaimed, chopping up onions more than just a little roughly. Bev sat at the counter watching him as she continued to attempt to convince him to call Hannibal, her eyes sparkling.

“Alana told me you have a ready excuse. Two, even. Clocks and cocks.”

“Bev.”

“What?” she asked, faux innocence radiating from her.

“If you want to eat, you had better stop saying stuff that makes me nearly slice my fingers off.”

Bev grinned in triumph.

“At least I finally got a smile out of you. Hey, can I borrow your phone?”

Will was instantly suspicious. He put the knife down and narrowed his eyes, watching Bev.

“Why?” he asked, deliberately not answering her one way or the other.

“Relax. I need to text my cousin and my phone has finally given up.”

She grabbed her bag and dug around in it, then pulled out her phone. She slid it over the counter, nearer to Will so he could see it. She wasn't wrong. Somehow the crack had begun running right down the edges of the screen, and even with it lying flat he could see just how close it was to falling out of the phone entirely.

“I'm more likely to cut my fingers on this than actually manage to communicate with anyone.”

“So you still haven't won your bet yet? Are you going to give in and buy yourself a new one?”

“No I haven't and no I'm not, because I am _this close_ to getting those two crazy cats to give in and declare their love for each other. Or at least bang once, I don't know.”

“Do you do anything with your spare time other than try to play matchmaker?” Will asked, picking the knife back up to resume his chopping of vegetables.

“What can I say. I'm a romantic at heart. And it's not like my own love life is anything to write home about.”

“How is your mother?” Will asked with a smirk.

“Asking about babies. She fails to realise that I can't really do that by myself.”

“Well, you _could_ -”

“And yet,” Bev said pointedly.

Will bowed his head and raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Anyway, you didn't answer me. Can I borrow your phone?”

“Fine, it's over there,” Will said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the coffee table. He busied himself with his cooking preparation while Bev texted her cousin, wondering what exactly he was scared of. When he thought about it, there was nothing in what Hannibal had said or done to leave Will with any reason to doubt that he wanted him to call; quite the opposite, in fact. And yet he still hadn't done it, still couldn't _quite_ believe that Hannibal really wanted him to.

He finished his preparations and washed his hands, sitting down while waiting for dinner to be finished.

“Do you think we'll ever get somewhere with a good kitchen?” he asked idly as he collapsed on the couch. “An oven that heated properly would be kind of great.”

“Maybe Hannibal can be your sugar daddy and buy you one.” Bev sounded distracted, until she looked up from the phone. “You finish at lunchtime tomorrow, right?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Because we're out of ice cream again, and I won't have time to get any. Would you be able to do me a _really_ big favour and get some more?”

“You really need to work on that addiction of yours, Bev. But yes, I can get you ice cream.”

“You're the best! Thank you.”

The rest of the evening passed in the same sort of companionable banter. They ate, and went to bed. Will, ever suspicious, had checked his phone for any incriminating evidence, but Bev had just laughed when all he could find was the conversation with her cousin. He decided to remain polite and not actually open it. When he went to bed, he couldn't sleep. He kept thinking he should call Hannibal, text him, _something._ But tomorrow. It was too late by that stage for a call to be anything other than a nuisance. Still, he'd made his decision, and he felt relieved more than anything. When he finished work tomorrow, he would come home, hide out in his room, and just _call him._ He drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face.

**

Unlike the day he and Alana had gone to see Hannibal, the day of the phone call flew past at what must have been record speed. The half day helped, of course, though the simultaneous dread and excitement that the afternoon promised had more than just a little to do with it.

“And you're definitely going to do it, right?” asked Alana as they readied things for Abigail and Franklyn. “You're not going to chicken out like you always do?”

“I'm not. I think. No.” Will refused to let himself get wound up over this. He was thirty years old, for god's sake. He should have been well past getting nervous just over _talking_ to someone. “I'm gonna do it. Though...” he thought for a moment, then decided to forge ahead. “Can you give me a text in maybe two hours, make sure I have?”

Alana let out a laugh.

“Of course I can.”

The bell above the door continued to chime, a group entering. Will stood at the till, ringing people up while Alana made the coffees. It was a pleasant distraction, and he almost felt calm by the time the last person made their way to stand before him. He looked up, and all that calmness suddenly fled. Standing before him was the ever perfectly presented Hannibal Lecter, a small smile gracing his features.

“Hello, Will,” he said. “I hope I'm not being presumptuous by being here.”

“I. N-no,” Will managed to stammer out. “No, it's fine. What can I do for you?”

“I find myself unaccompanied for lunch, and I have it on good authority you may not be otherwise occupied.”

Will's face flared red. _Bev._ He knew without any sort of doubt that she was the 'good authority', and while there was the slightest spot of anger at her for interfering, mostly what he felt was overwhelming gratitude. He knew himself. He knew he would never have called, and whatever potential there was between he and Hannibal would remain just that: potential. And any doubts that still remained about the other man's interest fast evaporated as he stood, waiting for Will's answer and for the first time since Will had met him, began to look uncertain.

“Yes,” Will said suddenly, realising that he had just left the man hanging. “Yeah, I'd like that,” he repeated more softly. The smile Hannibal had worn when he first approached Will returned, then grew bigger, his lips parting to show his teeth. They looked sharp, and a shiver ran though Will.

“Would you like a coffee while you're waiting?” he asked, hoping Hannibal would say yes. There was something pleasing about the way Hannibal enjoyed his work. “It's on the house.”

“I would enjoy that very much.” Hannibal pulled out his wallet, despite Will's offer of it being on the house. “I must insist on paying, however. It wouldn't do to take advantage of your kindness like that. I can't imagine the owner would be happy if I'd only paid for half of my coffees here.”

“That would be right.”

Will cringed. _Of course_ Hobbs would pick that exact moment to walk out behind him.

“You better not have been giving away free coffees, or there'll be consequences, kiddo.”

Will began protesting, but was interrupted by Hannibal.

“Only the one,” he said, looking Hobbs square in the eye. “And I assure you, there is no need to worry. He was merely being polite.”

Hobbs stared back at Hannibal, then broke into a smile.

“I like you,” he said jovially. “Give him whatever he wants for half price. Lifetime offer.”

Will just nodded, glancing over at Alana who had the grace to suppress her laughter when she saw Will look at her.

“Well, my work here is done,” announced Hobbs, clapping his hands together. He wandered off back to his office, whistling something that sounded vaguely Disney-ish as he disappeared from sight. Will just shook his head and sighed. He risked a quick glance at Hannibal, who was watching Hobbs' retreat with a quizzical expression.

“He's always like that,” he said by way of explanation. “Don't worry about it.”

“Oh, I'm not worried,” replied Hannibal, turning back to Will with a smile. “It must be an eventful type of employment.”

“That's one word for it.” He took Hannibal's card, running through the transaction with only a small amount of apprehension. “I'll bring it over for you in a second, if you're okay sitting down to wait. To go?”

“Of course. Take your time. And yes, to go seems to be the best idea.”

Will watched him walk over to the same table he had sat in last time, then forced himself to look away and move to the coffee machine.

“You can leave once you've made that, if you like.” Alana was watching him with a small smile as he made the coffee, a smile he couldn't help but reflect back at her.

“You don't mind?” he asked, more out of politeness than any real attempt to not go. He felt he was doing an admirable job of making the coffee without letting his hands shake, though he knew once it was just he and Hannibal – regardless of whether they were in the most crowded place in the city – it would be a whole different matter.

“I'm reasonably sure Franklyn will be walking through that door any second now, and it's not really busy. Nothing I can't cope with, at least.”

“You're the best,” Will said with a grin as he finished the coffee. He left the cup off to the side and took off his apron, throwing it into the laundry bag and collecting his things.

“You better tell me all about it tomorrow.” Alana spoke in a low murmur, looking out the window for Franklyn.

“I will. Thank you.”

Alana smiled, and shooed him away. “Go. Have a good time.”

Will picked up the coffee cup, took a breath, and made his way over. He nearly stopped, his feet only moving of their own accord when he saw Hannibal watching him, that ever-present ghost of a smile aimed at him. His heart began thumping in his chest and he was quite certain it must be completely obvious to everyone, and especially Hannibal, just how nervous he was.

“Uh. Hey,” he said, and then out of reflex added, “one black coffee, extra strong.”

“Thank you, Will.” Hannibal took the cup from Will's fingers, lifting the lid and inhaling the aroma with his eyes closed like some sort of coffee aficionado. Who knew - maybe that was exactly what he was in his spare time. “You didn't make yourself anything?”

“I'll be honest, it didn't cross my mind. I had a coffee earlier, so...” he trailed off, standing awkwardly while Hannibal sat.

“And then I arrived and threw all of your plans for the afternoon out of the window,” Hannibal said, and Will couldn't _quite_ tell whether he was gently teasing, or being apologetic. Likely both, he decided.

“I could have said no, if I didn't want to.” Will remained standing, still unsure if they were staying or going somewhere else. Hannibal answered the question for him by standing, which in turn made Will realise _just_ how close they were.

“Where would you like to go?” he asked, making no move at all to widen the distance between them. “I realise I'm all but a stranger, so I would like to take you somewhere you're comfortable with.”

“Oh!” Will blurted out, touched by Hannibal's thoughtfulness, even as his brain tried to derail at their continued proximity to each other. “Um. There's a sandwich bar not far from here. It does really good sandwiches, and has a heated patio area.”

“I know the one,” Hannibal replied with a smile. “Shall we go?”

He raised an arm, indicating that Will should lead him. Will, still flustered, made his way towards the door, giving Alana and Franklyn a wave as they passed. He hadn't even noticed Franklyn arrive, hadn't so much as heard the door open or the bell jingle. He felt a little like he'd been spun in circles and then left to walk in which ever direction his addled brain could cling to. They made their way out into to freezing cold air, the clouds above them thick and heavy and grey, promising snow in the near future. Will dug around in his bag for his gloves, then silently cursed himself when he remembered he'd lost them somewhere. He settled for tucking his hands into his pockets, only mildly envious of Hannibal's chance to hold a hot cup of coffee.

“I'm sorry I didn't call you,” Will said, still somewhat anxious but thinking it was best to get it out of the way early. “I wasn't really sure...” he trailed off, not exactly sure how to proceed.

“About what my intentions were on giving you my phone number?” Hannibal finished for him, neither teasing nor in any way annoyed. He was just curious, it seemed to Will. A benevolent sort of curiosity, which somehow seemed to be helping him to relax.

“Yeah. I started second guessing myself.”

“I assure you, there are very few people to whom I have given my personal number like that. And all of them are people I have known a long time.”

“So this is out of the ordinary for you too, huh?”

“It has been some time since someone has captured my attention in quite the way you have, yes.”

Butterflies thundered through Will's stomach, and he wondered how someone was able to say things like that without so much as a blush. Hannibal gave no signs at all of being in any way embarrassed, and so Will followed his cue.

“It's been a while for me, too.”

“Even if nothing else comes from this, Will, I'm glad to have met you.”

Will nearly tripped at that, recovering only at the last second. Hannibal's arm darted out to steady him, the coffee remaining safe in his other hand. Even through his coat, Will could feel the heat from the drink that had warmed Hannibal's glove, and the cold that replaced it once Hannibal let go seemed all the greater.

“Thanks,” he said, and he wasn't sure if he was referring to Hannibal's assistance, or his words. Either. Both. It didn't matter. They walked in silence, a little bit awkward, but a little bit comfortable, too. That was new. He hadn't known Hannibal long; didn't know him at all, really, but the fact there was any level of comfort so soon was a whole different experience for him. They entered the sandwich bar, the blast of warmth a blessed relief. Together they stepped to the counter, placing their orders and watching as the sandwiches were put together.

“You paying together or separate?” the girl behind the counter asked them.

“Would you let me pay, if I offered?” Hannibal asked, before Will had a chance to answer.

“Um.” Will didn't quite know what to say. He wanted to pay his own way, and most assuredly did _not_ want to take advantage of Hannibal. However, the offer for someone else to pay, especially given how short on money he generally was, was always a temptation.

“If you'd feel more comfortable paying for yourself, I won't protest. But I did rather spring this lunch date on you, without any warning. Paying for a sandwich is the least I can do to make it up to you.”

“Date?” Will blurted out. He closed his eyes the moment the word had left his mouth and took a breath to recentre himself, knowing it was futile to hope that Hannibal hadn't heard him and therefore would not have noticed that _that_ was the word his mind had immediately latched on to. “Is it a date?” he asked, only opening his eyes once he had forced the sentence out. Best to get it done and over with, now that he'd already broached the subject, no matter how inadvertently.

“That,” Hannibal answered after only the smallest of pauses, “is entirely up to you.”

“Do you want it to be?”

“If it were solely up to me, then yes. I would like nothing more.”

Will stared into Hannibal's eyes, searching for any sign of a lie. There was none. He smiled, a small and slow thing at first, then it grew wider. Hannibal's own smile grew in kind.

“I would like that, too,” Will answered almost shyly. He could scarcely believe that this man in front of him, who was so charming, so obviously successful, and, yes, so _unbelievably_ hot, was interested in a scruffy barista like himself. And yet he saw no lie in Hannibal's eyes, in his demeanour.

There was a small cough, interrupting their...whatever it was. Their _moment_.

“So you'll be paying together, then?” the girl asked, trying and failing to hide the amused smile she wore. Hannibal and Will looked back at one another, Hannibal with his eyebrows raised. Will nodded, and Hannibal smiled once more.

“Yes, please,” Hannibal said, turning back to her and handing over his card. Will couldn't help but feel a little bit giddy over Hannibal _wanting_ to pay for him, _wanting_ this to be a date. It was quite unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

It occurred to him that that had the potential to be more than just a little dangerous.

The girl handed over the card and the sandwiches, and Hannibal led the way to the patio area. Unsurprisingly, given the weather - or more specifically, the _temperature -_ there was no one out there. The heaters were running though, each table cocooned in a little nest of radiant warmth. They sat at one of the far tables, unwrapping the paper from their sandwiches and savouring them in companionable silence. Will finished his first, wiping his mouth with the napkin then balling his rubbish up. He squeezed it in his fist, gazing up at the sky, wondering if and when the snow would arrive. From the corner of his eye he saw Hannibal mirroring his earlier movements, carefully wadding the napkin up in the centre of the ball of paper.

“I was going to call you,” Will said in a sudden burst of comfortable openness. “This afternoon, I mean. Or at least, I'd planned to. I might have chickened out. I've been doing that all week.”

“I did wonder if perhaps I'd misjudged. I didn't want to push, so I refrained from coming to see you. Then I got the message from your flatmate...”

“Bev.”

Will scowled, but he couldn't keep it up.

“What did she say to you?”

“I'll show you,” Hannibal said, pulling his phone out. He tapped the screen a few times then put it on the table, spinning it around so Will could read it.

_Will, 8.38pm_

_Hi, this is Beverly Katz, Will's flatmate. I'm using his phone, so now you've got his number as well. He really wants to call you, but he's convinced himself that you were just being polite or something. Anyway, he's finishing work at 12 tomorrow, and I know that if you were to turn up and ask him out to lunch he'd DEFINITELY say yes. You don't have to, but I thought you might want to know._

_Will, 8.40pm_

_P.S. Don't reply to this number or he'll know I texted you. Just show up tomorrow. Or not. Totally up to you, man._

_Will, 8.45pm_

_P.P.S. He's a really great guy. Like, REALLY great. You won't regret getting to know him._

Will couldn't help but smile, a smile that rapidly turned into something that might be in danger of approaching a giggle.

“'You can tell a lot about the character of a man by the company he keeps',” quoted Hannibal. “Your friends obviously care deeply about you.”

“Bev's just really into playing matchmaker,” Will said in protest, though a warm feeling filled him as he looked at the messages again and again.

“Not just Ms Katz,” Hannibal said. “Ms Bloom as well. Your boss, even with his odd sense of humour, just in the small interaction I saw seems to hold you in high esteem.”

Will couldn't really argue against that. He sat and stared at his fingers, twisting them into knots on the table in front of him. Carefully he stilled them, willing himself to relax a little. He looked up into Hannibal's eyes.

“I'm glad she did it,” he said, once again unable to look away. “And I'm glad you came.”

The silence between them, rather than becoming awkward, became more and more charged by the second. Will felt sure that any moment the air around them would begin to crackle, that they would draw thunder and lightning from the very sky. He wondered if Hannibal felt it, too.

The moment was broken by the door in the far corner opening, a small group spilling out into the chill and squealing as they made their way to stand beneath a heater. Will blinked, suddenly and unexpectedly aware of the time.

“I'm not holding you up, am I? You must be needing to get back to work.”

“I do have a couple of appointments this afternoon.” Hannibal looked … not sad, exactly, but certainly a little disappointed. “I'm sure you have places you need to be...” he trailed off, looking expectantly at Will.

“No, no I don't. At all.” Will wondered if perhaps he was being a little eager in the way he spoke, but the smile it brought to Hannibal's face settle his concerns. “My place is sort of on the way to your shop,” he said, hope flaring up a little. “If it's okay with you, maybe we could walk back together?”

“I would like that very much.” Hannibal's smile grew even brighter, leaving Will's stomach doing flips. He'd never seen a smile quite like Hannibal's. It felt like in other circumstances it might be a dangerous smile, and yet he got no sense of danger at all from him.

“Shall we?” Will got up from his seat, standing before Hannibal with a hand out. Hannibal gazed thoughtfully at Will's outstretched hand for only a moment before reaching for it and standing. They stood like that for a second, before Hannibal released him and took half a step back.

“After you,” he said. Will set off, Hannibal half a step behind him. They re-entered the warmth of the shop, though it only lasted a few moments until they left it for good, stepping out onto the street. Will looked up at the sky. From far above, the smallest of snowflakes drifted down, landing on the tip of his nose where it promptly melted away. Around them he could see the occasional other snowflake; not enough to _really_ call it snowing, but certainly a harbinger of things to come

“Are you cold?” Hannibal asked with mild concern. Will just shrugged.

“Nothing I haven't dealt with before, or won't deal with again.” He slipped his hands back into his pockets. “It's going to be a cold winter, I think.”

“I agree. Do you have gloves? I've noticed you haven't worn any the last few times I've seen you.”

Will found himself having to sheepishly explain that he had lost his, and hadn't found the time to get new ones.

“Can you hold up your hand?” Hannibal asked. Will tilted his head slightly, unsure what Hannibal could possibly want. Nevertheless, he did as Hannibal asked and held his hand up, palm facing Hannibal. To his surprise, Hannibal mirrored the gesture, holding his own hand up to Will's. His hand was slightly larger, his fingertips stretching over the tips of Will's, his palm just a _little_ wider. And oh _god_ was his hand warm and soft and really, it was exactly the right size. Will found it more than a little difficult to keep from threading his fingers through Hannibal's, and he honestly could not have said whether they stood like that for a few seconds, or whole minutes.

Hannibal cleared his throat, a strangely soft sound.

“Good,” he murmured, then took his hand back. He reached into the pockets of his coat and pulled something smallish and dark from each one.

“Please, hold out your hand again.”

Will did, holding it up with his palm to the ground this time. Carefully Hannibal pulled a glove over Will's hand, then gestured for the other one. The gloves were warm, made of black leather and lined with the softest wool Will had ever felt.

“Thank you,” Will breathed. “Won't you need these?”

“I have others.” Hannibal spoke dismissively. “You can keep those.”

“I don't,” began Will. “I can't – these look expensive.”

Hannibal watched Will for a moment, then appeared to come to a decision.

“If you'd prefer, you can borrow them until you buy yourself your own.”

Will looked down at his gloved hands, clenching them into loose fists. The gloves were perfect – the difference in size between their hands made only a small difference to the way they fit, and he could tell already that they were far better than his old gloves. He looked back at Hannibal.

“Are you sure you don't mind?”

“If I minded, I would not have offered in the first place.”

Will nodded. “Okay, then. I'll wear them for now, and give them back when I find more.”

“Good.” Hannibal slid his own hands into his pockets, and together they walked back towards his shop.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The cold of the apartment, Will mused, was very useful for providing an excuse for him keeping the gloves on. After he had left Hannibal at the front door of his shop – this time with a set in stone promise to call him – he had wandered in something of a haze back to the apartment. He'd been back half an hour when he remembered he'd promised Bev to buy her more ice cream, and so had left again, walking through the chill to buy something just as cold. The snow had increased, though could still barely be called a dusting, and the entire way he watched his hands, still clad in the leather and wool gloves Hannibal had given him. Even when he'd returned back home, he'd kept them on, smiling at the thought of Hannibal having worn them, and given them to him. And it wasn't just that; he was just as touched by the thought that Hannibal had noticed at all that he hadn't been wearing his own gloves.

“I hope you're planning on taking those off when you have a shower, at least,” Bev remarked, settling back on the couch with her sought after dessert.

“Of course. I'm not _that_ pathetic.”

“You could have fooled me.”

Will threw a pillow at her.

“Hannibal showed me what you texted him.”

“Oh god, he didn't really, did he?”

“Yep. And so I know you love me and don't mean a word of it when you call me pathetic.”

Bev rolled her eyes.

“I'll have you know I loved my dog more than anything else when I was a kid, but _wow_ was he the most pathetic creature I've ever seen. Well, up until I saw you with your gloves, anyway.”

“You can't fool me. I know now.”

Bev snorted, though she looked affectionately over at Will.

“Yeah, well don't take advantage of it okay, mister?”

“Thank you, Bev.” Will sat up, all seriousness. “I mean it. I keep thinking I _should_ be mad at you, but I'm not. I needed that push. So thank you.”

“You're welcome. And that makes Bev two and oh. Oh yeah!” She fist pumped, looking pleased with herself. Will gave her a small 'huh?', momentarily confused.

“Guess who's getting a new phone tomorrow,” she explained with a grin.

“Huh, you got them to hook up, did you?”

“Yes I did. Turns out they've both been pining over each other for _years_ ,” she drew out the word 'years' in emphasis, “and now they're finally going on a date. Brian even came up to me to say thanks for giving him a nudge. I told him it was fine, just doing my duty as his – _their_ – new friend.”

“Didn't tell him about the bet then?”

“I wouldn't be that cruel.”

Will looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he answered, smiling. He looked down at his hands again, still marvelling over the gloves.

“For god's sake, Graham. They're just gloves. Get over it.”

“Hey, I'm allowed to be happy I've met someone _that_ thoughtful!”

“You guys are going to be gross, aren't you? I can already tell I'm going to regret this.”

Will got up, stretching as he did so, then made his way to the other end of the couch where he leaned down to plant a kiss on Beverly's head.

“Thank you,” he said, making sure to look her in the eyes.

“Any time,” she said with a smile. “Now go call him. Or text him. Whatever. I know you want to.”

Will grinned and nodded. They said their good nights, and he locked himself away in his room, staring at his phone with a smile and a pounding heart. He decided he wasn't quite up to the calling stage yet, so took a glove off and sent off a quick text instead.

_Hey. I just wanted to say thanks for lunch today. And for the gloves. I'll get them back to you as soon as I can._

He sat back and waited for the reply, trying his best and failing miserably to keep from watching the screen like a hawk. What if he didn't reply? What if he'd had time to think about it, and had decided that no, Will wasn't nearly as interesting as he'd initially thought? Especially since now Will was very sure that Hannibal was more than just attractive. He was someone Will was _actively_ interested in. Just as Will was beginning to convince himself Hannibal really was going to ignore him, the screen lit up. He scrabbled at the phone, trying to pick it up off the bedside table but managing only to knock it to the floor in his haste. He took it as a sign to stop, slow down, and settle himself. He closed his eyes and took a breath. His heart had resumed its fast, thumping beat and despite the fact he knew it was just a text, his palms were sweating. He couldn't figure out why this should be having so much more of a physical reaction on him than an actual, face-to-face meeting had.

Carefully he leaned down, retrieving the phone and pressing the power button to relight the screen. He tapped the message notification and read Hannibal's reply.

_I must return the thanks. It was more than a pleasure, and one I hope we can repeat soon. Aside from any appointments I have, my time is flexible. As for the gloves, you may keep them as long as they are needed._

Any doubts that had been building were blown away like leaves in a breeze. Hannibal was not just implying, but flat out _telling_ Will that he would adjust his schedule to work around him. He wanted to see him again. He grinned at his phone, not caring at all about how ridiculous he must look.

_Thank you. They're warmer than any I've bought myself before. I'm working tomorrow, but I have the next two days after that off. If you find yourself with free time or anything._

He hit send before he could second-guess himself. The reply came back more quickly than he'd anticipated.

_Would dinner tomorrow suit you? I know a place downtown, unless there is somewhere you'd prefer to go._

Will stood up from his bed, pacing around it in nervous excitement. And unexpected lunch date was one thing; a planned dinner was something altogether different. He argued with himself about the best way to respond, before deciding to just say what was actually in his mind.

_I'd love to go to dinner with you. If you know a place, I'd be happy to try it._

He left his room almost without even realising it, the same smile still threatening to split his face open. Bev was still up, curled up in her usual spot with a book. She took one look at him then groaned, tipping her head back.

“Let me guess. You're going out again. And you're already being gross about it.”

“Tomorrow. For dinner.”

Bev sat up, her book closed over the finger that marked her place.

“Where are you meeting?” she asked. “Do you want to me to drop you off? I'll wait up for you anyway.”

“We haven't finished planning, yet,” Will said, looking back down at his phone. There was another reply from Hannibal. He sat down, forgetting about answering Bev for a moment as they worked out their arrangements.

“He's going to pick me up here,” he said, almost delirious with excitement. “He'll be here at 6.30.”

“Good. I can meet him properly.”

“You've already met him, Bev. You're the reason we're going on this date in the first place.”

“And you're welcome. But I've only met him as Alana's book dealer.” She somehow managed to infuse the term 'book dealer' with the sort of mystique normally reserved for religious gurus, and given Alana's fascination for the books she collected, Will supposed that wasn't entirely inaccurate. “This time I'm meeting him as someone trying to court you.”

“'Court'? Who uses the word 'court'?”

“Hannibal looks like someone who uses it.”

“You're ridiculous.”

“Yes, but you love me.”

Will just laughed, turning back to his phone. He suddenly felt incredibly tired, and it showed when a yawn forced its way out of him.

“Anyway,” Bev said, opening her book again, “you never answered my question. Should I stay up, or are you going to go back to his place? Maybe froth his milk a little.”

“You're disgusting.”

“I'll take that as a 'don't wait up, Bev',” she said, doing what could only be described as an incredibly poor impersonation of Will.

“I'm going to bed before you get any worse. Good night.”

“Night, Will. But hey. Seriously. I'm happy for you. _And_ living vicariously through you, so if you could get some that'd be great.”

“ _Good night, Bev._ ”

Beverly just laughed, waving to Will as he retreated back to the quiet of his room. He'd already sent Hannibal his address. He sent one last text, saying good night, before kicking off his clothes and climbing under the blankets. The phone lit up one more time.

_Good night, Will. Sleep well. I'm looking forward to tomorrow._

_Me too,_ Will thought, before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

**

  
Most of the next day at work was spent in a giddy high, spinning around Alana and Franklyn and letting both of them know, repeatedly, how excited he was. To their credit they pretended to be just as excited for him the tenth time he brought it up as the first, Alana in particular smiling warmly, while Franklyn gave Will a hearty slap on the back.

“You're a good person who deserves good things,” he said, as Will staggered and tried to regain his balance.

“Where are you going?” Alana asked. The day was finally drawing to a close. Will gathered this things, waiting for the clock to tick over to five o'clock so he could head out the door and get ready.

“I don't know, actually. There's a restaurant, but I think it's supposed to be a surprise. I didn't ask.”

“Do you know how you're getting there? If you don't even know where you're going...”

“He's picking me up.” Will looked at the ground with a small smile, suddenly shy. “So I've got an hour and a half to get home and get ready. Bev has this whole thing about meeting him as my 'suitor'. And yes, she actually used that word. As well as the word 'court', like I'm a virgin from the Eighteenth century that she needs to marry off.”

“Aww, that's cute! You're taking him home to meet the family!”

“Alana, don't you start.”

Franklyn chose that moment to join in the conversation.

“What sort of flowers are you getting him?” he asked, genuine curiosity on his face. “I mean, _do_ you buy him flowers? Does he buy you flowers? Dinner dates are supposed to be flower occasions, aren't they?”

Alana covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, while Will blinked at Franklyn.

“I don't – I don't think flowers are a thing, yet. This is only our first proper date.” In truth though, Franklyn's ham-fisted questioning did get him thinking. _Were_ flowers appropriate? Would Hannibal be expecting them?

_Shit._

Alana seemed to notice Will's internal debate, which probably wasn't particularly difficult, given how frozen to the spot he had become.

“Will?” she asked. “I don't think you need to worry about flowers. Just relax and have a good time. Your first date is for getting to know each other better, not worrying about flowers.”

“Alana's right!” exclaimed Franklyn. “Ignore the flowers. Mr Lecter will fall for who you are without needing them.”

“Uh, thanks, Franklyn.” Will was never _quite_ sure how to deal with Franklyn, and he found himself floundering even more than usual. He meant well, at least, which meant a lot to Will.

“You just need to believe in yourself,” Franklyn continued, setting his large palm down on Will's shoulder and peering intently into his eyes. Will just smiled and nodded, turning a little towards Alana so he could subtly free himself.

“You guys mind if I leave now?”

“I don't. Do you, Franklyn?”

“Not at all. You go and have a _great_ night.”

“Thanks, you guys.”

Will barely waited for any further goodbyes, darting out the door with hardly a backward glance. A light dusting of snow fell, not enough to cause any trouble at all, but enough to be noticeable. He rubbed his gloved hands together, still thankful to Hannibal for lending them to him. Though lending seemed to be only the polite term – he knew Hannibal wanted him to keep them, and he himself knew he had no desire to return them. Which in itself was stupid. They had only just met, scarcely knew each other at all. There was nothing at all to say that after another date or two they wouldn't just lose interest, that this whole thing wouldn't just peter out into nothingness. And yet...

...and yet there was nothing to say that they _would_. It might be tempting fate to be so optimistic, but there was little he could do to stop it.

He walked quickly through the cold, eager to get home as soon as possible. He bounded in through the door, dropping his keys on the counter. Bev didn't seem to be home yet, so he made his way into his room, dropping his bag on his bed, then headed straight for the shower. He took his time washing his hair and scrubbing his skin. A busy day in front of the coffee machines left him feeling less fresh than he would like, and the smell of stale coffee that inevitably clung to him by the end of the day was never one he found appealing. Normally he stuck with plain soap, but the bottle of body wash Bev liked to use caught his attention. He drummed his fingers against his thigh, his other hand wiping water from his face.

_Fuck it,_ he thought, and picked the bottle up. It had a pleasant fragrance; not too floral, not too sweet. He doubted Bev would mind him borrowing some this once. Scrubbing himself, he wondered why on earth he'd never tried using it before. It was so much more pleasant that the waxy white bar he used every morning. He rinsed off, getting out of the shower and wrapping a towel around himself. By the time he exited the bathroom in a cloud of steam, Beverly was home.

“Looking good! Though if you're planning on going out in public I'd suggest at least putting a shirt on. It's a bit cold for just a towel. Not to mention the police might not look too kindly on it if you drop it.”

“You ever thought about getting into comedy?”

“I feel the world wouldn't recognise my talent.”

“You won't get any arguments out of me about that.”

“You excited?” Bev asked, ignoring Will's insult completely.

Will grinned. Surprisingly, he was not only excited, but that excitement seemed to be damping down any nervousness he might have otherwise been feeling. It was a nice change.

“I am,” he answered. “Though I'm kinda stuck on what to wear.”

“I can see – or smell – that you decided to use my body wash. That's a good start.”

“Yeah, sorry. I would have asked, but it was sort of a spur of the moment thing.”

“I don't mind at all. Do you know anything about the place you're going yet?”

Will shook his head. Hannibal hadn't mentioned it, and he hadn't pushed. In truth, he would have been happy eating another sandwich, if it was with Hannibal. He wondered when the last time was that he'd been so excited just to be in the company of someone else, without caring _where_.

“Okay, so you're gonna need something nice enough for if you go somewhere upmarket, but relaxed enough for anywhere else.” Bev paused for a moment, thinking. “C'mon.” She dragged him into his bedroom, quite literally, her hand gripping his wrist tight as she hauled him along in her wake. She began digging through his closet while he looked on in mild bemusement.

“This!” she exclaimed, turning in triumph and brandishing one of his few nice dress shirts. It was dark blue; not quite navy, but still dark. He couldn't actually remember when or why he had bought it, but it _was_ a nice shirt.

“Leave this unbuttoned, throw your jacket over it and you'll be good to go wherever you end up.”

Will just smiled. Without really thinking about it, he reached up to run his hand over his jaw.

“Do you think I should shave?” he asked, rubbing his palm over stubbled skin. Bev looked at him for a second, eyes narrowed in thought.

“Nah. You suit a bit of scruff.”

Will dipped his head in an over the top mock acknowledgement of her compliment.

“I thank you, dear lady.”

“You are welcome, good sir.”

Bev grinned, then made her way out of the room to let Will dress. He finished towelling himself off, pulling on dark pants and the shirt Bev had pulled out for him. He ruffled his hair a bit, wondering what on earth he was supposed to do with it. It had grown long over the few months since he had cut it last. He glanced over at the clock – he still had fifteen minutes before Hannibal was due to arrive. He was fairly certain he still had a pot of hair gel in one of his drawers, so he went to dig through, pleased when it surfaced. Better still, when the lid was opened the gel was still good. He'd had one too many experiences over the years of his rarely used hair products drying out. He carefully scooped a small amount out, running it through his damp curls, then combing it into submission. He stepped back and looked at the result. Overall he was pleased; his hair had actually stayed where he wanted it, the shirt fitted well and even to his eyes looked good on him.

“Hey, Will?”

Will jumped a little. He looked up at Bev peering around the corner.

“Just thought I'd let you know I buzzed Hannibal in. He should be up here soon.”

Will could _feel_ the blood drain from his face. All day, _all day_ , he'd kept his nervousness at bay, had been actively looking forward to it, in fact. Now though, it felt like the floor had fallen away beneath him and he was falling with no idea where or when he'd land.

“Hey, you'll be fine!” Bev came further into the room to lay a hand on Will's shoulder.

“I know, it's just … it's been so long. I don't even remember what I'm supposed to _do.”_

“You're supposed to go out with Hannibal, get to know him while he gets to know you, and have a good time. I mean that in every possible sense of the phrase, by the way.”

Will took a breath.

“You're right. It'll be fine. We were fine yesterday, we'll be fine today.”

“And hey. I got my new phone today, so if you _do_ find yourself needing to bail, which I'm 100% sure you won't, you can text me and I'll come get you.”

“That … that actually does make me feel better.”

“See? And I'll be waiting up, so if things _do_ go well, you better tell me you won't be coming home.”

Will smiled, his anxiety melting away. It really was one of Bev's gifts. It wasn't so much what she said, but who she was, something inherent to her that always managed to calm him down.

“Thanks,” he said. Bev opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by a knock at the door. They both stood, Will stuck to the spot, Bev watching him with amused curiosity.

“You want me to get that?” she asked when it became apparent Will wasn't going to move. “Because while you're standing here deciding whether to use your feet or not, it would be the _perfect_ time to tell him all those embarrassing stories I know.”

For all that Will knew Bev would do nothing of the sort, it was still enough to get him moving. His socked feet nearly tripped over each other in his haste to get past her, even though he could see she hadn't made any signs of trying to get there first. He hurried to the door, stopping once he reached it to take a deep breath and try to settle himself. It didn't work, but it at least gave the outward impression of calm. He opened the door.

“Good evening, Will.”

_God_ he looked good, Will thought as he stared openly at Hannibal. Even though he was in a suit and tie, the same as he had been every other time he'd seen him, he somehow looked different. Maybe it was the fabric. Maybe it was the slightly softer way his hair was styled. Maybe it was both of those things, and neither of them. _Whatever_ it was, it almost took Will's breath away.

“Hi,” he managed to breath out. He stepped aside, allowing Hannibal the space to enter. His arms were held in front of him, his coat draped over them as he glided into the apartment. Will closed the door behind him, turning back to Hannibal once he had done so. The other man was standing near the kitchen area, looking around the small apartment space with interest.

“It's not much,” Will began, unsure where exactly he was going with the statement.

“Nonsense. It's yours.”

“And mine!”

The two of them turned their heads in tandem towards the voice. Bev wandered out of her room (and when did she even get there, Will wondered), her hand held out.

“Hi, I'm Bev. Will's flatmate.”

Hannibal took Beverly's hand, shaking it with just the traces of a smile on his face.

“Hannibal Lecter. Will's date for the evening.”

Will watched the exchange, butterflies rioting when Hannibal called himself Will's date.

“Well, now that that's out of the way,” Bev said as she took her hand back, “I'll head back to my room. You two kids have fun, alright?”

“I certainly intend to.”

Will closed his eyes at Hannibal's words, his palms breaking into a light sweat. His tone sounded nothing but innocent, but the words themselves sparked something in Will, leaving him utterly powerless. He opened his eyes again to see a smirking Bev waving goodbye as she left the room, and Hannibal turning back to him. His eyes raked over Will, but he said nothing.

“I – I wasn't sure where we're going, so I hope what I'm wearing is okay,” Will managed to stammer out.

“What you are wearing is perfect.” Hannibal took a step closer. “Shall we?”

Will nodded mutely, completely overwhelmed. He could only hope all his nerves were floating to the surface now, so they could be done away with by the time they were at dinner. Hannibal paused a moment, then headed for the door himself. Will trailed behind him, then shook himself. This was ridiculous. He waited for Hannibal to go through the door, checked the door was locked behind them, then fell into step beside him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hannibal smile.

“So where _are_ we going?” Will asked.

“A small place in the centre of town. It isn't crass and flashy like some places can be; in fact, it's very small. Rustic, I believe it would be described as. Nevertheless, it makes some of the best food I've ever had at a restaurant.”

“Italian?” Will hazarded a guess at the type of food they'd be having.

“It's not specific to anything, really. A little of this, a little of that, but all done well.”

“Haven't been to a restaurant in a while,” Will confessed. “Bev and I usually stay in and cook. Or we have take out once a week.”

“You like to cook?” Hannibal asked, just a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Yeah. It's soothing. And getting to eat whatever you've just made always seems better.” They took got into the elevator, then Will realised what he'd said. “I mean, I'm not saying my cooking is better than a restaurant -”

“I agree with you completely,” Hannibal interrupted smoothly. “I rarely eat out either. In fact, I had thought about inviting you to my house so I could cook you dinner, but thought perhaps you would feel more comfortable somewhere neutral.”

Will didn't answer straight away. He just watched Hannibal from the corner of his eye. Hannibal stood stock still, his back as straight as ever, his face calm, but it didn't elude Will's attention that his hands were fidgeting, just slightly, beneath his coat.

“I would have liked that.” He kept his voice light, his words simple, but he would have more than liked it. He would have liked to have repaid it in kind, if there was a next time. Which wasn't to say that he didn't want to go to the restaurant with Hannibal; nothing could be further from the truth.

“It's not too late to change our plans.”

The elevator came to a stop before Will could respond, the doors sliding open to let them out. They exited, passing a small group of people waiting their turn to go up.

“I wouldn't want to inconvenience you. We've already agreed on our plans.”

“Not at all. I would be more than happy to change, if that's what you would like.”

Will only needed to give it another moment's thought. He nodded.

“Yeah. Let's do that, then.”

Hannibal practically beamed, his smile all but splitting his face in two.

“The car is this way,” was his only verbal response, and Will followed him out the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bev's milk frothing pun is courtesy of [Devereauxs_Disease](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease), so you can all blame her and then go read some frankly _amazing_ fics if by some miracle you haven't already.


	6. Chapter 6

The car ride was quiet, but pleasant. The car stereo was on, the soft classical music piping through the speakers just loud enough to be noticeable, but not distracting. It wasn't a long drive to Hannibal's house – he lived no more than ten minutes drive away, though it was a much more upper class neighbourhood than Will was used to visiting.

“This is a bit different from my area,” he observed as they drove past ever larger houses.

“I hope you won't be too uncomfortable.” Hannibal slowed, turning the car into a driveway that lead into an impressive looking.

“Not at all.”

The car came to a halt. They sat for a brief second, Will looking out at the rather imposing entranceway. He didn't notice Hannibal getting out until the cold air blew through the open door, shaking him out of the almost trance he was in. He quickly unbuckled his belt, opening his own door and clambering out of the car. He followed Hannibal to the front door, crunching across the light dusting of snow that had been accumulating over the course of the day. He marvelled when the door opened into an actual, honest-to-god entrance way, its walls lined with coat stands, hooks and what looked like shelves close to the floor, with several pairs of neatly arranged and sparklingly clean shoes on them. The next thing he noticed was the _warmth_. It wasn't hot, but this was a house that clearly did not have the same issues with draughts getting in through the windows as his apartment did, nor did Hannibal seem to have any problems with running the heat while he was away. He followed Hannibal's lead, hanging his coat on a spare hook and leaving his shoes on one of the little shelves. His relief at having decided to put on all clean clothes, _including_ socks, came crashing to the fore. Together they padded into main part of the house.

“Wow,” Will said, not even realising he'd said it out loud until Hannibal looked at him questioningly. “Sorry. This is just a little bigger than I'd imagined.”

“You'd imagined my house?”

“Just, y'know. Since you mentioned you like cooking. And that we'd come here.”

Once again Will's face flushed, and he cursed his tendency to blush so easily, and his pale skin for showing that blush more obviously than most.

“Will.” Hannibal looked at him with what Will could only describe as a stern smile, before his eyes softened and Will realised he had only been teasing him.

“Would you prefer to remain here,” Hannibal gestured towards the armchairs that sat in the living room to their left, “or would you like to make this a joint exercise? I can think of a number of things to make with what I have to hand, and your input is important.”

“Yeah,” Will said, smiling. “I'd love to help cook.”

“Good.” Hannibal sounded so pleased, and looked so happy at Will's answer. He knew he'd made the right decision to come here. “Let me put my jacket away. I'll be back very soon.”

Will nodded, watching Hannibal as he climbed the stairs to where his bedroom must be. That set off a whole other train of thought, one that he needed to shut down straight away, so he pulled his phone out to let Bev know what was happening.

_Change of plans. We decided to go to his place to cook instead of going to the restaurant and holy shit Bev IT IS HUGE._

He glanced up the stairs again, though there was still no sign of Hannibal. In his hand the phone buzzed.

_I thought so. You can tell by the way he walks._

Will stared at the message, uncomprehending for a moment before realisation dawned.

_I'm not talking to you any more. I'll be home later._

He shoved the phone back into his pocket, ignoring the return message. He looked up again, this time seeing Hannibal heading back down. He'd ditched the jacket, and had swapped shirts, from the pristine white one he had been wearing, to a deep purple. It looked amazing on him. He'd rolled the sleeves up to just below his elbows, and Will found himself fixated on the sight of his forearms. He reached the bottom of the stairs, standing before Will. He couldn't take his eyes off Hannibal, the way his clothes clung to his body, the way his hair fell softly over his forehead, the slight twinkle in his eyes or the curve of his lips. He'd never met anyone so astoundingly _beautiful._

“The kitchen is this way,” Hannibal said, breaking Will's reverie. He turned and lead the way. Will found himself completely unable to keep his eyes from raking along Hannibal's form; his back, the way his legs moved, and, yes, the way his obviously tailored trousers clung to his ass. Hannibal pushed through a door and Will snapped his eyes back up to an acceptable height, before he looked around the room in awe.

The kitchen was unbelievable.

It looked like a professional kitchen rather than a home one. There was a six burner gas cook top set into the island, two enormous fridges, at least three ovens – no, _four_ , all in the wall and all of different sizes. The room was the size of the entire living area of his and Bev's apartment.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “You really do like to cook, don't you?”

“I do,” Hannibal answered simply.

“Do you cook for big groups or something? You can't possibly use all of this just to cook for yourself.”

“I do host dinner parties from time to time, yes.”

Hannibal bustled about the kitchen, pulling out and arranging knives and bowls.

“Do have anything you can't or won't eat?” he asked, making his way to the fridges.

“Nope.” Will was lucky enough to avoid any allergies, and had learned at a young age to develop a liking for anything that was put in front of him. They often hadn't had the luxury of being able to shop only for what they liked, sticking instead to what they could afford. “I'll eat anything.”

That same pleased look flashed across Hannibal's face.

“How does spiced pork loin sound to you? It would go well with side dishes of roasted mushrooms, pan fried cherry tomatoes, and a Swiss chard salad.”

“That sounds amazing.” And it did; Will's mouth was beginning to water just thinking about it. Hannibal opened the fridges, pulling out the meat and vegetables and depositing them on the work bench, then glided to the cupboards to pull out spices and herbs.

“Would you like to slice the mushrooms while I prepare the spice rub?” he asked, holding out the sharpest looking knife Will had ever seen. Will took it from him then set it down, rolling his own sleeves up before he started. As he began slicing he watched Hannibal collecting all his implements and switching on two of the ovens to preheat, then coming back to measure out and mix the spices.

“How long have you owned the antique store?” he asked, taking the opportunity to try and learn more about him.

“The store itself I have owned for almost three years, though my interest in collecting and sometimes selling antiques on a more casual basis has been with me most of my adult life.”

“How'd you get into it?” Will was interested enough to have stopped slicing, watching Hannibal as he rubbed the spice mix into the meat. It did rather draw Will's attention to his hands, his fingers long and strong. He forced himself to switch his attention back to the mushrooms, and the knife in his hand.

“I grew up around old things, and I had a love for history instilled in me at an early age. The two blended together seamlessly.”

“Where did you grow up?” Will's curiosity was growing into a burning need to know more, _anything_ about this man.

“I was born in Lithuania, though I only stayed there for the earlier part of my childhood. From there I went to France, and then Italy. Eventually I came here.”

Will raised his eyebrows, looking at Hannibal in wonder.

“Wow. I've never even been to Canada.”

Hannibal looked up with a smile.

“Perhaps that could change, one day.”

“Wait.” Something that had been tickling at Will's attention finally made itself known. “Lithuania? Where that clock is from?”

“It was – _is –_ a family heirloom. It sat on our mantelpiece while I was growing up. I found it again when I found my family. It has stayed with me ever since.”

There was so much in that statement; _too_ much, in fact, and Will didn't know where to start, or even if he _should_. He stuck to the safe path.

“I see now why you have such a fondness for it.”

“And you?” Will noticed the way Hannibal deftly shifted the subject, but didn't comment on it. He was sure there would be time in the future to find out more, if Hannibal chose to trust him enough. “Where did you grow up?”

“All over the place, really. My dad and I travelled around a lot. He followed the work, I followed him.” If Hannibal noticed the lack of any real information, and Will was certain he did, he didn't say anything. They both knew that sometimes family stuff wasn't the easiest to speak about, especially to someone you didn't really know yet. “I spent a lot of time in the south, though. Louisiana, places like that.”

“And then your life brought you here, to Baltimore.”

“Felt like a change. I just roamed around from job to job, and somehow ended up staying here.”

“I dare say meeting friends who became akin to family may have had something to do with that.” Hannibal's smile was a knowing one. Will could only nod in agreement.

“I've finished the mushrooms,” he said, placing the knife down carefully on the bench.

“Excellent.”

Will watched Hannibal finish preparing the meat, sliding it into the larger of the two heated ovens. He washed his hands, then came to stand with Will.

“We just need to toss these in some olive oil, salt, and pepper. Then they'll go into the oven, and we'll have a few minutes free before pan frying the tomatoes and putting together the salad.”

It was strange, Will mused, how something so simple could be so enjoyable. He liked cooking anyway, always had. He'd had to cook a lot for his father when he was younger, and he'd never lost the joy it gave him. But this was different. He'd never _shared_ it with anyone else, not even Bev. For her, cooking was just something that had to be done from time to time. It was a whole different experience like this.

He watched Hannibal finish off the mushrooms and place them into their oven. He still had trouble believing his eyes each time he looked around the kitchen. Everything was so pristine, and there was just _so much of it all._

“Sorry,” he said, when he noticed Hannibal looking at him. “I'm still a little amazed by all of this.” He gestured around the room.

“I must admit that my hope is for you to become used to it, one day.”

Will's mouth dropped open, just slightly.

“I apologise if that's too forward.”

“No, I – no. It's fine.” He grinned to himself as he moved to wash his hands. He glanced over his shoulder at Hannibal and met his eyes, the two of them locked together for a long, drawn out moment.

“Would you care for a wine?” Hannibal asked, blinking and taking half a step back. “I have red and white, whichever you would prefer.”

“Red?” Will hazarded. He could name any type of coffee anyone could possibly want, but he was in foreign territory when it came to wines. He had a vague suspicion that reds were good for roast meats.

“Give me a moment, then.” Hannibal spun and made his way to a door that had gone unnoticed by Will, so distracted by everything the kitchen contained was he. Hannibal emerged from the room a few moments later, a dark bottle in his hands. He collected two glasses on his way to Will, bringing them over and stopping next to him. They were much closer now; not quite touching, but it would take only the smallest of movements to bridge that gap. It took only seconds for Hannibal to have the wine opened, the cork removed with a faint pop, and then the dark red liquid was swirling around the glasses. He set the bottle aside, handing one glass to Will and taking the other himself, pivoting slightly so that his hip was resting against the bench. Will mirrored him, holding the glass and turning to face him. Together they lifted the glasses to their lips, each taking a small sip. Will was enthralled by the way Hannibal held the glass to his nose first, his eyes closed and remaining shut while he savoured the first taste.

“It's good,” Will said when Hannibal's eyes opened again.

“It is. It's one of my favourites.”

“Thank you,” Will said. “For all of this. I sometimes find restaurants a little … _overwhelming._ This is ...” He trailed off, not sure how exactly to word things.

“A little more comfortable?”

Will nodded. “Yeah. Definitely more comfortable.”

“Then I thank you for the compliment,” Hannibal answered, looking down into his glass. He almost looked shy, just for a second. It was endearing.

After that, they moved around the kitchen in a resumption of their duties. Hannibal pulled out the cherry tomatoes and the frying pan, while Will chopped fresh herbs to mix into the roasted mushrooms. Together they finished the preparations, making salad, slicing the pork and plating the food, the mushrooms topped with spoonfuls of sour cream. Will carried the wine bottle and glasses, following Hannibal, laden with food heaped plates and shining silverware, into the dining room. Together they sat, Hannibal pouring them both another glass of wine. They ate in relative silence, apart from the occasional comment on the food. It was one of the best meals Will could recall ever having, and he struggled to believe that anything at the restaurant Hannibal had planned for them to go to could possibly have even matched this. He said as much to Hannibal.

“The difference it makes, having a good partner in the kitchen, is a noticeable one.”

Will coughed, nearly choking on his food, and had to hurriedly take a gulp of his wine. He wondered, as he blinked the tears from his eyes and Hannibal looked at him in concern, if he would get used to the other man's total openness with his thoughts.

“So what brought you to America?” he asked, clearing his throat. As far as subject changes went it was clunky, but it was still effective enough.

“My career.” Hannibal took his own sip of wine, swirling the liquid around the glass while watching it intently. He didn't go any further than that, much to Will's bemusement.

“I would have thought you'd do better in the antiques trade in Europe. Since you go there anyway to buy them and all.”

Hannibal flashed him a quick smile. “That was not, in fact, my career when I arrived here. It was a hobby that became a living. I arrived here as a doctor.”

Will could feel his eyebrows practically trying to climb off his forehead.

“You're a _doctor?_ ” he exclaimed. “How did you...?”

“ _Was_ a doctor,” Hannibal corrected smoothly. “It became too much, so I left. I gave thought about moving into another branch of medicine, perhaps psychiatry, but settled on this. For all that I miss it, and I _do,_ I'm much happier now.”

“What sort of doctor were you?” Will was fascinated, and despite his usual reticence when it came to these things found himself unable to resist finding out more.

“A surgeon. Specifically an emergency room surgeon. It's a high stress job, and one that takes its toll on all who are there. That toll can be higher, if there is not an adequate valve to release the stress.”

Will could hardly wrap his head around the idea. He took another bite of his food, the last, as it turned out. He'd continued eating while Hannibal spoke, entirely without realising.

“Lithuania, to France, to Italy, to the US. From a doctor, to an antiques dealer. You've led a hell of a life,” he said with a smile, pleased when Hannibal smiled back.

“I suppose I have.”

The longer Will sat there with Hannibal, chatting about everything and nothing, the more comfortable he grew. The remnants of his initial awkwardness, still there while they drove to his house, had vanished. Even with Bev, who he was closer to than almost anyone, it had taken months before they – _he,_ if he was being honest – had reached anything even close to the same level of comfort as he felt with Hannibal already.

They cleared the table after a while spent speaking of inconsequential things; Will learnt Hannibal had a sweet tooth he had never been able to shake, Hannibal learnt Will's idea of heaven was to stand in the middle of a river with a fly fishing rod, thinking of nothing but the water around him and the fish he was attempting to catch. Together they rinsed and stacked the dishes, Will's offers to help wash them being politely, but firmly, declined.

“You are not just a guest in my home, but a first time guest. It wouldn't do to make you quite literally work for your supper. More than you already have, that is.”

The rest of the evening passed in the same easy going manner. Hannibal made them both coffees, coffee that he apologised for encroaching on Will's area of expertise. One sip let Will know that Hannibal was as accomplished at the art of coffee making as he seemed to be at everything else Will had seen him turn a hand to. Hannibal had even gone so far as to stoke a fire, switching off the central heating in favour of the cosier warmth of dancing orange flames. The armchairs they relaxed in weren't anything like the wingback chair in Hannibal's shop. Instead they were modern, extremely so, much in keeping with the rest of the house. It was an interesting dichotomy, to have someone who appeared so steeped in history and the past, to choose instead to surround himself in (an admittedly very classy version of) ultra-modernity. It was one of the many little quirks about Hannibal that Will found himself taken by a craving to learn more about. Their conversation meandered, sometimes quick fire exchanges of words, other times stretched silences as one or the other pondered things.

Up on the mantelpiece a clock, all glass and metal, ticked the time away. Will didn't realise how late it was until it wound itself up to chime midnight. He blinked in surprise, squinting to peer at it as though his ears had deceived him.

“Midnight,” observed Hannibal. “Traditionally the end of nights such as these.”

“Traditionally,” Will agreed, not entirely certain that he wanted anything of the sort to happen. Nothing was said, the two of them looking at the clock as it continued to while away the night.

“I should call a cab.” Will broke the silence, causing Hannibal to look at him sharply.

“Nonsense. I will drop you home, the same as we'd already planned.”

“You don't...” Will stopped, tried again. “You're not expecting me to...?”

Hannibal looked a little puzzled, but Will's meaning made itself known. He smiled softly.

“I would never _expect_ anything. Though I would very much like to see you again, if that's something you could see yourself doing.”

“Yes!” He cleared his throat, ratcheting his enthusiasm down a notch. “Yes. I would like to see you again, too.”

Will was sure he'd never meant anything so wholeheartedly in his entire life. After tonight, with the way they clicked so well, he couldn't imagine _not_ seeing Hannibal again.

Hannibal stood, holding out a hand for Will. He took it and stood from his own chair. Hannibal kept hold of Will's hand, and Will made no move to break the connection.

“I've enjoyed tonight,” Hannibal said, his voice pitched low. “I hadn't thought to meet someone like you -”

“Working at a coffee shop?” Will interrupted in self-deprecation.

“Anywhere.”

Hannibal's answer was so matter of fact that Will wondered if he'd heard it right. When Hannibal dropped his hand and took a step backwards, Will realised he'd been staring at Hannibal like a fish, mouth open and eyes wide.

“I should get you home. It wouldn't do to leave Ms Katz waiting and worried.” He sounded amused, though also a little strained as he spoke. Will merely nodded, and followed Hannibal back out to the entranceway to collect their coats and shoes. They didn't say much on the way back, both of them choosing to instead soak up the last few minutes of their night together. Which isn't to say that Will didn't get distracted – he did. Driving in the dark, in the quiet, with very little other traffic on the roads, made it that much more difficult to refrain from watching Hannibal out of the corner of his eye. His profile was astounding, and what made it astounding were his lips. Well, all of it really, but his lips were what captivated Will, the way in profile they seemed to be ever so slightly pouting, as though preparing for a kiss. Will was well aware that _that_ particular interpretation was his own mind projecting exactly what _he_ wanted to do, but he didn't care in the slightest. He was sure – more than sure – that Hannibal wanted the same.

All too soon the car pulled to a stop, as close to Will's apartment as possible. The engine went silent and they sat for a moment. Will didn't want to go, not yet.

“Would you be offended if I asked to walk you to your door?” Hannibal asked. He didn't look at Will, as though afraid of receiving an answer in the negative.

“Not at all,” Will replied. “I'd like that.”

Hannibal did look at him then, a look of genuine pleasure on his face. They undid their seatbelts, climbing out of their respective sides of the car in tandem. Together they walked to the door of the building, looking nowhere but at each other, each of them wearing the same small smile. The elevator ride was just as quiet. They stood much nearer each other than they had on the way down. Will could almost feel tiny little sparks of electricity darting between them, something that was exacerbated when the elevator ground to a halt, jarring them together. The doors slid open and they walked to his door, stopping and facing each other once they reached it.

“Thank you,” said Will, almost in a whisper. “I had a really good time.” He wasn't bothered by how clichéd he sounded. He meant every word of it.

“Thank _you_ for indulging me,” Hannibal said. He removed his gloves, a movement Will watched intently. “It's been a long time since I can recall having such a pleasant evening.”

The word _pleasant_ should have sounded non-committal at best, but Hannibal managed to imbue it with enough layered tones and nuances to sound anything but. He took another step closer to Will, lifting a hand and resting it gently on the side of Will's face. Will couldn't stop his eyes from fluttering shut, just for a moment. The kiss he had half expected didn't come, so he opened his eyes again only to find Hannibal looking at him in something approaching wonder, as though he really _had_ found something that he'd become convinced couldn't possibly exist. It was enough to make Will lose all sense of what he would and would not normally do. He ran his own still gloved hands up Hannibal's sides, drawing them in slowly to meet in the middle, holding on to Hannibal's unbuttoned coat. Even more slowly, gently, he tugged, pulling Hannibal closer, leaning in the final distance to brush their lips together. Hannibal stiffened slightly, the abrupt intake of air audible, but then he relaxed. His other hand lifted to rest softly on Will's hip as he returned the kiss. It was such a soft thing, almost chaste.

It was perfect.

They pulled apart, the hand that had been on Will's cheek now sliding down his neck to rest on his shoulder. Will licked his lips, chasing the faint traces of Hannibal's taste from them. He wanted more, but the hallway outside his apartment was not the place for it.

“I believe you mentioned having the next two days off,” Hannibal said. Will knew he wasn't imagining the slight hitch in his voice, the touch of breathlessness. He nodded.

“I'm free at any time, for any reason.”

“Good. I will call you tomorrow and we can arrange something. Though now I'm afraid I must leave, while I still have it in me to do so.”

Will nodded again, more than a little regretfully. He forced himself to step back, before he did something _really_ stupid like throw Hannibal against the wall. He dug around in his pockets for his keys, Hannibal waiting while he did so. The urge to abandon all pretence was strong, causing his hands to tremor, just faintly. Finally though, he did find them. He lifted them, letting them dangle between them.

“This is me, then.”

“Yes, it most certainly is.”

Will closed his eyes, a shiver running down his spine. Hannibal stepped forward, pressing another kiss to Will's lips, his hand wrapping around the back of Will's head this time, and he nearly melted. Everything was in a daze when Hannibal stepped back again, this time for good.

“Bye...” Will said, committing every moment of this to memory.

“Goodbye, Will.”

Hannibal turned and walked back to the elevator, looking back over his shoulder at a watching Will once he reached it. Will for his part didn't move until the elevator doors had slid shut. He slumped against the wall, a hand pressed to his forehead. Not even trying to get rid of the smile that split his face wide open, he pushed himself back up, opened the door, and walked into the apartment.

 


	7. Chapter 7

“I was starting to think you weren't coming home,” Bev said from her spot on the couch. She looked about ready to nod off, her eyes and voice as sleepy as each other. Which, Will mused, wasn't surprising given it was nearer to one in the morning than midnight. She sat up and stretched, the blanket around her falling down.

“So? How was it? I at least need a brief run down before I go to bed.”

Will's smile, already huge, grew to what seemed to be an impossible extent. Bev's eyes widened.

“You _didn't,_ ” she breathed. “You go, Will!”

“What? No! No, nothing like that. It was just a really good night.”

“Oh god. The post-coital smug look I can take. If this is just some sappy romantic _Bev-I'm-so-in-love_ thing, I'm out.”

Despite her words, Bev stayed exactly where she was. Will just beamed at her until she rolled her eyes.

“C'mon, Graham. Spill.” She patted the couch, wriggling a little to make room for Will. He sat down, wondering where on earth to begin.

“He's perfect,” was what ended up coming from his mouth. It seemed as good a thing to say as any. “I mean, I'm sure he's not, I'm sure he's got flaws that I'll notice sooner or later, but right now? He's perfect.”

Bev's face softened.

“So? Tell me all about it. How did you end up at his place instead of the restaurant?”

“He just mentioned that he'd thought about inviting me there so he could cook for me. It came up when I said that you and I don't go out much, that we cook our own food. He said he didn't ask me to his place because he thought I'd feel more comfortable somewhere neutral.”

“Wow, you barely know each other and he already knows that much about you?”

Will nodded, still utterly incapable of wiping the smile from his face.

“Keep going. What's his house like? Apart from big.”

“No, seriously, Bev. It's not just big. His kitchen is the size of this whole apartment. Well, not including our bedrooms, but this area here?” He waved his arms around, gesturing to their kitchen and living area. “Just kitchen. He has _four_ ovens!”

Bev's eyebrows nearly climbed off her forehead.

“Four? Why the fuck does someone need four ovens?”

“He said he has dinner parties sometimes.”

“How does he even own a place that can fit four ovens in it? How many dusty books can that place possibly sell?”

“Oh, here's the bit you'll love: he wasn't always an antiques dealer. He used to be a doctor. An emergency room surgeon.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“So let me get this straight. He's insanely gorgeous, thoughtful as hell, rich, super intelligent, used to be a doctor but now trades in historical artefacts, and even in the short time I saw you both here, is clearly _completely_ besotted with you?”

“Besotted?” Will teased, not quite ready to address any of what Bev had said just yet.

“Yes, it's the only word that really seems to apply to what I saw.”

Will looked down at his hands. His face was growing red again, but just for a change he really did not care.

“All I'm saying is this: don't you _dare_ let go of him, Will Graham.”

“We've only just met,' he protested, though his heart wasn't in it at all. “We barely know each other.”

Bev sighed happily.

“Something tells me you're going to have a lot of fun changing _that_ ,” she said. “Have you at least kissed him yet?” Her look turned teasing and Will had to turn his head again. His smile by that stage was so big he felt sure his face must be about to split wide open.

“Not until we got back here. It was a goodnight kiss.”

“Oh fuck me, so he's romantic as all hell, too. You're right. He's perfect.” She clapped her hands on her knees, then stood up.

“I'm going to go to bed now, before you infect me with more of _this_.” She waved her hands at Will, encompassing everything he was doing; smiling down at his hands being chief among them. But she looked happy for him, nearly as happy as Will himself was.

“Night, Bev. Thanks for waiting up and letting me tell you about it.”

“No problem. You can tell me in greater detail tomorrow.”

Will smiled up at her. He thought he should go to bed himself, but he was too full of happy energy, so once Bev had vanished into her room he got up and made his way into the kitchen area, tucking his gloves into his pocket. There wasn't a great deal to work with; his plan was to go shopping tomorrow, since it was his day off, but there was enough to be going on with. He pulled a frying pan out, setting it on the stove, then grabbed some eggs. There were a couple of strips of bacon, so he got those, too. He wasn't _quite_ sure why he was suddenly craving a midnight breakfast, but he was, and cooking, even something as simple as this, seemed as good a way to burn off the energy as any. Before he began, though, he pulled out his phone. Hannibal should be home by now.

_Thank you for this evening. I hope you made it home safely._

He focused on his cooking after that, though his mind – and eyes – kept drifting to the phone that now lay on the benchtop. It was only when he put the bread in the toaster, the bacon and eggs sizzling away nicely, that the screen finally lit back up with a reply.

_I did, thank you. I hope I'm not being too eager when I say I am very much looking forward to speaking with you tomorrow._

Will grinned, firing his reply back as quickly as he could.

_I'm the one texting you at 1 in the morning even though I only just saw you. So no, you're not being too eager. I can't wait either._

It took a while for Hannibal's reply to arrive, and while Will waited he finished off his cooking, shoving the eggs, bacon and toast onto a plate haphazardly then shovelling enormous forkfuls into his mouth. He began to wonder if Hannibal had fallen asleep; it wouldn't be an unreasonable assumption, given the time, but as he was finishing his phone buzzed again.

_Until tomorrow, then. Sleep well, Will._

Will grinned. He could hear the words in Hannibal's voice as he read them, and he couldn't help but think about hearing them for real one day.

_Goodnight, Hannibal._

He got up, taking his dishes to the sink and rinsing them off. The energy had worn off now, his eyelids drooping and a large yawn leaving his jaw feeling like it was about to crack. As he walked to bed he unbuttoned his shirt, dropping it on the floor of his bedroom to be dealt with later. His pants fell alongside them, as did his socks, and despite the chill he crawled under his blankets in nothing but his boxers. His hand drifted up to his lips as he recalled the feel of Hannibal's on his, and he drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face.

**

Will was so exhausted that he slept right through Bev getting up and leaving for work, which was no mean feat given the noise she normally made while showering and getting her breakfast ready. When he did finally blink, bleary eyed, at the clock, it was after nine. He sat up and stretched, his fingertips returning to his lips of their own accord as memory flooded through him once more. To say it was a pleasant way to wake would be an understatement. He checked his phone, more out of hope than expectation and wasn't surprised to see no messages or missed calls.

He dragged himself out of bed, padding off to the shower. The gel in his hair was decidedly less than pleasant as he washed it out and it reminded him of why he only rarely used the stuff. Once the shower was done he padded through the apartment, feeling somewhat at a loss over what to do. In the end he made himself some toast, chewing on it as he made a list of things to get when he went grocery shopping. He kept an eye on his phone while he did so, but so far there was nothing. He stood and grabbed his wallet and keys, making sure to shove his phone safely into his pocket, and headed out the door.

He walked slowly to the store, enjoying the fine weather. It was still cold, though the sky was clear, the winter sun shining down on him. It seemed appropriate, somehow, for that to be the case. His wanderings took him far from his usual path. It was only when he was halfway there, though, that he realised his feet had taken him in the direction of Hannibal's shop. He stopped when he noticed, unsure if it would be an okay thing for him to just turn up unannounced. He thought for a moment, then spun on his feet, intending to head back. In his pocket his phone began to buzz and he dug it out, the by now familiar pounding of his heart just at the thought it might be Hannibal setting its rhythm. That was emphasised when he saw that it _was_ Hannibal.

“Hello?” he answered, managing somehow not to fumble it as he pulled it out of his pocket.

“Good morning, Will,” was the warm reply. “I hope I'm not interrupting you.”

“No,” Will answered. “Not at all. How are you?”

There was a bench up against one of the buildings and he made his way over to it, sitting down in a patch of sun. Between that, and the sound of Hannibal's voice coming through the phone, he almost didn't feel the cold any more.

“I'm well. Better than that, I must admit. And yourself?”

“I'm good, too.”

Will smiled as though he were looking at Hannibal. He wondered if Hannibal was doing the same. He had a feeling he was.

“I'm pleased to hear that,” he said, and Will could hear in his tone that yes, he was smiling as well. A little ball of warmth inside him began to grow. “I was wondering,” Hannibal continued, “whether you have plans today.”

“Nope. Free as a bird.”

“I've just finished my only appointment of the day. If you would like, I could close up the shop and we could spend the day together.”

“I'm out shopping at the moment,” Will said, then realised how it sounded. “I'm actually not too far from you. I could be there in a few minutes?” He asked it as a question, to give Hannibal an out, should he want it, should it be too soon for Will to arrive.

“I would like that.”

“Great. I'll see you soon.”

They said their goodbyes and hung up. Will just sat for a minute longer, wondering how _any_ of this had come to pass. A few weeks ago his life had been quiet, and a little boring. He'd been content, though. Any thoughts of finding someone, if they'd occurred at all, were fleeting, something for a future him to worry about, and then Hannibal had walked into his shop and everything had changed. And if it hadn't been for Bev, he might have missed out on all of it. He knew it hadn't been long, knew everything could change tomorrow, but it didn't matter. There was something so profoundly different about Hannibal, compared to every other person he'd ever been with, and he couldn't shake the feeling that that _meant_ something.

He stood up, and headed off.

**

The door opened with a soft chime from the bell above it, the door shutting out the sound from the street. Though the shop was large, it felt warm, cocooning in there. Will hadn't been entirely aware of it the first time he'd been there, so focused on Hannibal as he'd been, but he noticed it now. His eyes made their way straight to the desk, watching as Hannibal looked up from what he was doing, a smile brightening his face and crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Will!” he exclaimed warmly, standing up. “You really were only a short distance away.”

“Yeah,” Will replied sheepishly. “I was sorta just wandering without paying attention to where I was going, and ended up nearby.”

“I'm glad.”

Will made his way further in to the shop as Hannibal collected his coat.

“You don't mind me taking you away from this place? What if someone wanted to buy something really big.”

“People who have plans to buy something 'really big' tend to make appointments, and as I have no more booked for today I see no reason to stay. It is one of the many advantages to running a business such as this oneself.”

Will had no answer to that, and so instead smiled and stepped up to the desk. He rested his hands on the dark wood, gazing over at Hannibal. Hannibal glanced down at Will's hands, then looked back up at him. Slowly, and very deliberately, he leaned forward, cupping Will's jaw with one hand. He leaned closer to leave a lingering kiss on Will's lips, pulling back only slightly when he was done.

“I've thought about that all night,” he said, his voice on the verge of true hoarseness. Will's eyes fluttered open – when had they even closed? He didn't remember that happening – and he smiled again.

“Me too,” he whispered, feeling far giddier than he thought a thirty year old man probably should. Not that he cared in the slightest; there was something so very intoxicating about feeling this way, and he intended to hold on to it for as long as he could.

Hannibal stood up straight again and pulled his coat on. Will couldn't help the thoughts that ran through his head while Hannibal did so, thoughts that may have involved the coat being taken off, rather than put on, followed by a thorough testing of the desk's sturdiness. His face began growing warm, and Hannibal looked at him in amused questioning. If he didn't know better, Will would have sworn that Hannibal knew exactly what he was thinking of.

“You made mention of being out shopping – do you have anywhere you need to go?” he asked instead, relaxing Will somewhat.

“Just grocery shopping,” he answered, thankful for the chance to get his head back on straight before he fell down the fantasy rabbit hole. “It can wait until later, or even tomorrow.”

“Not at all. I have my own grocery shopping that needs doing, so perhaps we can do that together.”

It really shouldn't have been as exciting as it was, Will thought. There was literally _nothing_ about grocery shopping that was in any way even remotely exhilarating, and yet the thought of walking through the produce section with Hannibal had his heart racing. He was inclined to think that Bev's assessment of him being pathetic was perhaps a little more accurate than he would like. Not that he would admit that to her. Not in a million years.

“Yeah. Sounds good,” was what he actually said, despite his enthusiasm for such a mundane task. He waited while Hannibal readied things, walking with him to the door then waiting again while he set the alarm and locked up. He couldn't help but notice that Hannibal's gloves, when he pulled them on, looked similar to the ones he had given Will, but were noticeably newer. He hadn't looked at them that closely before, but now that he was looking, it seemed so obvious. Hannibal saw him looking at them, and much to Will's surprise, developed a faint blush of his own.

“Did you buy yourself new gloves after you gave me yours?” he asked.

“I did,” Hannibal said simply with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “I apologise for being less than truthful with you. It seemed that I was in more of a position to get new gloves than you, and the weather has taken a turn into proper winter. You were more in need than I.”

Will wasn't quite sure how to respond. On the one hand, he was angry, and a little insulted at being treated like a nothing more than a charity case, and without even being given all the information to make a decision about it for himself. On the other, he couldn't deny that Hannibal was right. And _oh_ did he love those gloves, and not just because they were good ones. Being given something by Hannibal, something so obviously thoughtful, was so touching to him. To have someone who really, if Will was being honest, barely knew him, still be able to see what he needed and be willing and able to help him, was something he was not used to in the slightest. Part of his anger, Will was self-aware enough to be able to acknowledge, was because he knew that he could all too easily fall into accepting things until he was completely dependant on Hannibal, and _that_ he did not want.

“New rule,” he said. “No more trying to give me things or buy me things like this without being honest. I don't want to start like that.”

Hannibal looked at him carefully, his expression inscrutable. Abruptly he nodded and smiled.

“Agreed. As long as you promise to tell me if you think I'm overstepping any boundaries.”

Relieved, Will agreed, and together they walked.

**

The shopping itself was a surreal experience for Will. It was so painfully ordinary, and yet being there was Hannibal was anything but. He had watched in slightly confused wonder as Hannibal automatically went for the top shelf version of virtually everything he bought, while Will bargain hunted. He had the slight impression that Hannibal didn't normally enter stores like the one Will had dragged him to, which amused him no end.

Once they were done, they'd returned to Will's apartment. Bev was at work, so together they had put everything away. Hannibal hadn't bought anything that needed chilling, so his bag sat on the counter, waiting for his trip home.

“So,” Will said, stepping well and truly into Hannibal's personal space, “you said you'd been thinking about that kiss all night.” There was something about Hannibal, something about his steady presence, that made Will feel so much more comfortable, more confident, than he normally did with other people. The fact that Hannibal's eyes lit up when Will spoke only served to reinforce that.

“Altogether too much.” Hannibal's hands slid over Will's hips, coming to rest on his waist. His tongue darted out, the tip running along his lower lip before disappearing again. It was all the invitation Will needed and he leaned forward, his own hands sliding up Hannibal's chest as he tilted his head and pressed their lips together. Hannibal's fingers dug in to his skin as he returned the kiss, still the same verging-on-chaste kiss that their first had been. That didn't last long, as Will's lips parted, his tongue darting out, Hannibal's own lips opening in response. As the kiss deepened Will couldn't help letting out a groan, something that obviously had its effect on Hannibal. He spun them around, his hands dropping to Will's hips and _lifting,_ until Will was perched on the edge of the counter, Hannibal between his spread legs. Will's hands wound their way up Hannibal's chest and over his shoulders to wrap around the back of his neck. Despite the almost frantic nature of the motion, the kiss itself remained gentle. Will was lost in a fog of delight, marvelling in the taste of Hannibal, the smell of him, the _feel_ of him.

Hannibal's hands began to move, one rising to cup the back of Will's head, the other moving up his side to rest against his ribs. Will clung tighter in return, shifting slightly to begin kissing along Hannibal's jaw, a move that elicited a low, drawn out moan from the other man.

“Fuck you're beautiful,” Will growled between kisses. Hannibal shivered, though whether at Will's words, or the sensation speech against his skin caused, Will couldn't say. Whatever it was, it seemed to have caused another reaction in Hannibal, one that became immediately obvious when he pressed himself closer to Will. Will himself was in much the same state, especially when Hannibal tightened his fingers in Will's hair and pulled slightly, exposing his neck. He latched on, teeth scraping across skin as he bit a deep, sucking kiss into Will's flesh. It was Will's turn to have to bite his lip to contain the groan that was fighting its way out, a fight that Will lost quickly.

“I think we should probably move from here,” he managed to pant out as he pawed at Hannibal's back.

“I'd have to second you on that.”

Will leapt in fright at the unexpected voice. Hannibal, to his credit, did not jump, but he did freeze momentarily, before straightening up, patting Will's hair back into place.

“Ms Katz,” he said smoothly over his shoulder, as though they hadn't just been interrupted getting a little hotter and a little heavier than the kitchen counter had probably been designed for. “Good morning.”

Beverly waved her hand back and forth between them from the door to the apartment, where she rested against the door frame. “I'm pretty sure this qualifies us as being on a first name basis,” she said, though with a grin.

“Beverly, good morning,” Hannibal said as though he'd not spoken at all before. Will was torn between burying his head in Hannibal's shoulder – they still had their arms around each other – and remaining proudly where he was. There was something exciting about someone seeing him like this with Hannibal, even if that someone was Bev who would be pleased for him no matter what. To his great relief, however, and no matter the circumstances, the situation he and Hannibal had been jointly afflicted by seemed to be dissipating. There were some things that Bev didn't deserve to have inflicted upon her eyes.

“I, um. I wasn't expecting you home.”

As far as excuses went, that was right up there with the worst of them, Will thought. Though in his defence, he reasoned with himself, he normally didn't have something so utterly distracting standing between his legs.

“I can see that,” Bev answered with a smirk. “I think I can safely assume things are going well then, and you're getting to know each other just fine?”

“Things are going very well indeed,” Hannibal answered before Will had a chance. He gazed at Will as he spoke, almost disregarding Bev entirely, and the weight of that gaze would have floored Will if he had been relying on his knees to keep him upright. The sound of a clearing throat floated over from the door, and Will tore his eyes away from Hannibal.

“What are you doing home anyway?” he asked.

“I was up late last night, so didn't wake up in time to make myself some lunch. Didn't want to buy, so took advantage of some down time to come home and grab some.” She pushed herself off the door frame, closing the door behind her as she properly entered the apartment. Will and Hannibal took advantage of her turned back to straighten themselves out, Hannibal stepping back and holding out a hand to assist Will back to the floor.

“Will and I just did some grocery shopping,” he said as Bev walked into the kitchen area. “If you would allow it, I'd be happy to prepare you something.”

“Are you trying to buy my forgiveness, Hannibal?” Bev asked coyly.

“That all depends on whether it would work.” The sly look he gave Bev amused Will no end, and seemed to be having the same effect on Bev.

“Food I don't have to make, and didn't have to go out and buy? Sounds good to me.”

“Do you have any preferences? I was thinking a smoked chicken salad sandwich – quick and easy not only to prepare, but to eat should you find yourself short of time.”

“Sounds perfect. I can hide out in the cupboard away from all those stomachs on legs who inhale every bit of food they come across.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow at that, obviously confused about what she could possibly be talking about.

“And what is it you do that involves having to hide in cupboards, away from wandering internal organs?” he asked, already removing items from his own bags of food.

“I string up lights down at the theatre,” she said, and Will snorted.

“And the rest,” he said, taking the chance to talk Bev up in front of Hannibal. “She's the head electrician as well as the main lighting designer.”

Hannibal paused on his way to the fridge, his interest now clearly piqued.

“That's your work?” he asked.

“Yep. Will'll be able to tell you _all_ about all the times I've come home covered in gaffer tape that I've forgotten I've stuck to myself, or complaining about directors who don't listen to me when I tell them that no, that lighting scheme is going to look awful. Until they see it for themselves, anyway, and then I have to go and reconfigure the whole damn lot.”

“Your work is exquisite,” Hannibal remarked, obviously impressed. “You strike the perfect balance between enhancement and subtlety. I've often felt it was one of the strong points of the theatre.”

“Thanks!” Bev seemed a little flustered, something that Will didn't see on her too often. He grinned. If anyone deserved praise, it was her. “You go a lot?”

“Every time I have the chance.”

“Well, let me know next time you want to see something. I'll flick you guys some freebies.”

“I would appreciate that very much,” Hannibal said, his sincerity clear. “Where is your bathroom? I should wash my hands, first,” he said, shifting his attention to Will.

“Just over there.” Will pointed to the bathroom and watched as Hannibal walked away.

“Seriously, Will,” Bev said under her breath after she sidled up beside him, “keep him. I can't emphasise that enough.”

Will turned back to her with a soft smile, his stomach turning flips as the memory of Hannibal lifting him onto the counter replayed over and over in the back of his mind.

“I plan to.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

As it turned out, it was a week before Will and Hannibal were able to see each other for more than a few minutes at a time, when Hannibal would come in to the coffee shop during his lunch break. Between Will working a run of longer shifts, and Hannibal having multiple appointments booked on Will's other day off, it was difficult for them to find the time. That didn't mean that they didn't speak to each other, though. Will found himself, for the first time in his life, actively looking forward to the long, meandering phone calls they made to each other each night, and he didn't even mind the light teasing Bev indulged in every time he emerged from his bedroom with a happy smile after having spoken to Hannibal for over two hours.

“So, when are you planning on bringing him around here?”

“That all depends on whether you're planning on giving him shit about how you found us last time,” Will said, flopping down on the couch beside her. In truth, there was nothing he would like more than to see his closest friend, and the man he was most definitely more than just interested in, getting to know each other and perhaps becoming friends themselves.

“Of course I am! How could I pass up an opportunity like that? And in any case, if you _don't_ want me giving you shit about dry humping on the kitchen counter, then don't dry hump on the kitchen counter.”

“We cleaned it!” Will answered indignantly. “And anyway, it _wasn't_ dry humping.”

“Could've fooled me. _Oh Hannibal, aaaaaahhhhh._ ” She threw her head back in imitation, her eyes closed as she waved her arms around, octopus-like, in a caricature of Will throwing his arms around Hannibal's neck.

“Your impersonations are appalling, did you know that?”

“Yeah, well. There's a reason I work backstage and not on it.”

Will let out a laugh and stretched, lacing his fingers behind his head as he slouched down lower on the couch.

“But yeah,” he said, going back to Bev's original question. “I can invite him over for dinner. We can cook for you!” He sat up straight again, suddenly excited by the prospect.

“I could get used to you two cooking for me,” Bev mused. “Because that sandwich you guys made me? I still can't believe how good it was. I mean, I know your cooking has always been good, but wow. The two of you teaming up?”

Bev had come home unable to stop talking about the sandwich they had made, which Will had to be honest and say was probably because of the dressing Hannibal had quickly mixed together while Will was cutting thick slices of fresh bread. The smoked chicken he'd bought on a whim probably hadn't hurt, either, but Bev had made him promise to learn how to make the dressing so she could have sandwiches like that every day.

“I'll ask him, then,” Will said happily, already planning what they might be able to make. His kitchen wasn't nearly as well equipped as Hannibal's was, but he'd gotten by with it more than adequately the whole time he'd been living there with Bev, and he'd made do with a lot worse in the past. “What about you, though?”

Bev looked suspiciously at him. “What about me?”

“Have you been on any more dates?”

“No, after Brian I thought I should probably reset my guy filter.”

“Brian's a good guy though, isn't he?”

“Yeah, but he was, now that I know better, completely head over heels for someone else even before he asked me out.”

“And you helped him find true love. And in your defence, it sounds like he didn't know that at the time either, so how could you be expected to?”

“That is true.” Bev smiled over at him lazily. “I'm not in any hurry though. It'll happen if and when it happens. I mean, a couple of months ago who would have guessed that _you'd_ be so gone on someone?”

Will opened his mouth to protest, then changed his mind. There was no possible way he could deny that. He nodded in acknowledgement instead.

“I'm finishing at a reasonable time tomorrow,” he said, “and Hannibal's picking me straight up from work. I'll ask him then.”

“Good. Let me know when this is happening so I can skip lunch that day and then stuff myself on whatever feast you guys provide for me.”

Will just laughed again, and got up. It was late, and he wanted to get a good sleep in before seeing Hannibal again the next day. He said his good nights, and made his way to bed.

**

“You guys are too cute!”

The squeak from behind them was coming from Abigail, who had emerged from the back room just in time to see Hannibal leaning across the counter to give Will a lingering kiss hello. Once upon a time, Will would have been embarrassed by the attention, but confidence in this sort of thing was just one in a growing list of things in which Hannibal was having a positive effect on him.

“Thanks,” he said, and he meant it. Hannibal merely smiled and nodded hello to Abigail, who giggled in response. She seemed to have developed something of a fascination with Hannibal, constantly asking him questions about both of his careers. She was currently in college, studying something that had exited Will's mind as soon as it entered, but she seemed to be giving a lot of thought to changing to something like what Hannibal had done. Or was doing. It wasn't really clear, and Will just left them to it whenever she got Hannibal cornered somewhere. Hannibal for his part seemed to delight in indulging her, treating her like a favourite niece. It made Will wonder, even though he'd never had any real feelings himself about the topic one way or the other, whether Hannibal might have wanted children. That was a subject, however, that he was most assuredly not going be bringing up, especially not this early in their relationship.

“I'm sorry I'm early,” Hannibal said, shifting his attention back to Will. “There seemed little point in loitering at work, when I could instead come and sit here with a coffee and wait for you.”

_Wait for you._ That phrase sent a tiny flurry of butterflies through Will's stomach.

“I'll bring one over for you,” he said with a grin, taking the money Hannibal held out and handing back his change. Hannibal tipped his head in acknowledgement and made his way over to what had become his customary seat. He couldn't help but watch Hannibal as he walked. He had the most wonderful posture, which led to a particularly appealing gait. Will didn't delude himself into thinking it was anything other than lust that caused his eyes to continually focus on Hannibal's ass, but he was perfectly okay with that. He shook his head, and ambled over to the coffee machine.

“Big plans tonight?”

Will looked over his shoulder at the unexpected voice. Alana stood behind him, tying her apron on.

“You're early,” he said, turning back to the machine. He could practically hear her shrug before she answered.

“Nothing better to do today. And I _might_ have heard about your plans for tonight.”

Will looked back over at Alana and her knowing smile.

“Bev told you me you were going out tonight. I'm going to be around at your place to watch movies, since we both agreed you're unlikely to be going back before tomorrow.”

Her knowing smile transformed far too quickly into a smirk and Will scowled.

“Why does everyone feel the need to discuss my sex life?” he muttered, choosing to otherwise ignore her. Responding in any way would only make it painfully obvious that he would be more than happy to spend the night with Hannibal, and he wasn't sure he was willing to invite that level of scrutiny just yet, no matter how well-meaning it may have been.

Alana, thankfully, didn't say anything more, though she did keep smiling at him every time they looked at each other. It was disconcerting, though it also – not that Will would in any way admit to it – made Will feel happy, and maybe even a little pleased with himself.

He finished making the coffee and carried it over to Hannibal's table. Hannibal took it with a smile, his fingers brushing over Will's as he took the cup.

“Do you have any preferences about what you would like to do tonight?” he asked as he set the coffee on the table to cool. Will shook his head. In all honesty, he was happy to do pretty much anything, if it was with Hannibal.

“Have you seen the movie Casablanca?”

Will shook his head, surprised by the question. That was definitely not on the list of things he'd thought Hannibal would ask.

“Perhaps, after dinner, we could watch it together. It's one of my favourites, so I would like to share it with you.”

There was something about not just the statement, but the entire sentiment behind it that hit Will with the force of a ten ton truck. Hannibal had been going out of his way to do things Will would like, that would make Will comfortable, and now he was wanting to share something of himself. It didn't matter that it was something as small as a movie. It was another part of the puzzle that was Hannibal Lecter, and no part was too small for Will to not want to grab it with both hands. He was watching Will keenly, as though exposing something even that inconsequential was something he was worried would be received poorly.

“In that case, I'd love to watch it with you,” Will said, unable to resist reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from Hannibal's face. He thought it to himself a dozen times a day, and had told everyone he knew on multiple occasions, but it occurred to him once again just how _beautiful_ Hannibal was. He was so very different from everyone else Will had ever met, both physically and in terms of his personality, and all of it was in such perfect ways. His eyes were lighting up now, even as his eyelids hooded slightly at Will's touch. He was little like a cat in that way, Will was beginning to notice.

“I'd better get back, finish off the stocking up before we leave.” His fingers were still toying with Hannibal's hair as he spoke, and Hannibal reached up his own hand to grasp Will's before he left. Will held Hannibal's gaze, and the longer he held it the more charged it seemed to become. He could feel the energy pooling within him, nestling down low in his abdomen, waiting to become…

Well, something else entirely.

He stepped away reluctantly, their joined fingers lingering a moment longer before he turned and walked back to the counter. He looked up to find Alana and Abigail watching him intently, with identically amused looks on their faces.

“Shut up,” he said before either of them had the chance to speak. Alana just shrugged, though the twinkle in her eye didn't fade at all.

“We didn't say anything, did we Abigail?”

“Nope,” answered Abigail, shaking her head and doing an admirable job of wiping her expression. “Nothing at all.”

“You didn't need to.” Will's grumble was a façade and they all knew it, the two woman both letting out small laughs then immediately moving to act like they were busy. Will just let out a sigh, and moved on with his own work. He did everything as quickly as possible, though with Alana helping it didn't take very long at all. He refilled the beans and turned around, pleased to see that everything was now done. Undoing his apron, he wandered out the back to collect his things.

“Will!” came a voice from the office. “You got a second?”

Curious, and perhaps more than a little apprehensive, Will entered the office to see what Hobbs wanted.

“Yeah?” he asked, hovering near the door.

“Come in, sit down. And shut the door behind you.”

Hobbs had never, in all the time Will had been working there, asked him to come into his office, let alone to come in and shut the door. The tension began to ratchet up, and he found himself having to wipe his palms on his pants. He shut the door and made his way to the chair in front of a stern-faced Hobbs' desk. He sat, racking his brain to try and find anything that he might have done wrong that could possibly have resulted in this meeting, but could find nothing.

“You've been here a few years now, haven't you, Will?”

Will nodded. He figured until he knew what this was about, it would be the safest thing to just remain quiet.

“And you know how things run – or are supposed to run, anyway – don't you?”

Again, Will nodded. Hobbs' face was the same unblinking mask that it had been when he first entered, and it gave him no clue as to what this was about. Hobbs just sat and stared at him, entirely unmoving, saying nothing further.

“Did I do something wrong?” Will eventually blurted out.

“How confident are you with working with large sums of money?”

Will's mouth clicked shut. _Now_ he was confused.

“Uh … fine, I guess? I mean, I normally only deal with what customer's hand over, and those aren't what I would call _large_ sums,” he said. “I guess counting the takings at the end of the night I'm good with too?”

Hobbs was nodding along as Will spoke, and his stern but otherwise blank expression had now shifted in favour of a frown of concentration.

“And how about keeping an eye on stock levels? Do you think you're good at that?”

“I know I'm good at that,” Will replied, feeling a little more confident with that question. “I'm the one who usually does it most days.”

“How about dealing with any questions staff may have, new or old?”

Now Will was back to being flummoxed.

“Uh … also fine? I mean, I think I did okay with Abigail, and nobody else has complained.”

“Good, good.” Hobbs nodded again, still with the same frown on his face. “In two months time I'm going to Canada for a month. Hunting trip. How would you feel about being in charge while I'm gone?”

Will's mouth dropped open.

“Me?”

“You're smart, you're reliable, and you know what you're doing. I think with a couple of weeks learning from me about the things I do, you'll be okay to look after the place while I'm away.”

“I – wow. I mean, are you sure? Me?”

“Of course I'm sure. You think I don't know my own employees?”

“No, I didn't – it wasn't -”

“Will,” Hobbs interrupted, and finally he lost his frown and smiled. “I wouldn't be asking you if I didn't think you were up to it. You're more than up to it. So do you want the job or not?”

“I – yeah! Thank you,” he answered, mystified as to why Hobbs had such faith in him, but happily so. He stood up, holding out his hand for Hobbs to shake.

“Great. I'll re-jig the rosters tomorrow so you can spend a few days a week learning the ropes.” He grasped Will's hand in both of his, and forced Will to make eye contact with him. “You're going to do a good job, Will. I know it.”

Will thanked him once more, still mildly in shock, then wandered out of the office in a haze, his belongings clutched tight. He walked right past Alana and Abigail without even noticing them, heading directly for Hannibal. He sat down in the chair opposite, still not quite sure how any of that had happened.

“Will?” Hannibal asked, looking over the top of his reading glasses, his newspaper discarded the moment Will had arrived. “Are you alright? You look like you've had a shock.”

“I have.” Will looked at Hannibal, unsure if he should tell him now, or after they left. When Hannibal's expression changed from quizzical to concerned he decided. “Hobbs promoted me? I think? He's going away for a few weeks, and he wants me to look after the shop while he's gone.”

A slow smile spread over Hannibal's face, a look of total delight.

“Congratulations are most definitely in order, then,” he said, folding his newspaper and setting it neatly on the table. “It would seem our first chance to have another night together was well timed.”

The look he gave Will reignited that warm pool of energy in his belly, and suddenly Will was very eager to get going. He hid that as well as he could, however, choosing instead to nod slightly.

“Shall we be off?” he asked, standing. Hannibal followed his lead, standing then pushing his chair back in.

“We shall,” he all but purred.

**

Dinner was one of those quick and easy, yet entirely delicious meals. Hannibal had bought two enormous steaks that he seared to perfection while Will put together a simple salad. It seemed that as much as the two of them loved to cook, this was a night where the less time was spent in the kitchen, the better.

Over dinner they discussed Hobbs' proposal. Now that he was removed from the idea, both figuratively and literally, it was beginning to fill Will with excitement. He'd never really given much thought to running his own shop before, but now that it was something he was going to be getting some experience in, he found that the idea was appealing. More than appealing, in truth.

“I may not have known you as long as Mr Hobbs,” Hannibal said, swirling the last of his wine in its glass, “but I can see he's made the right decision. You're an exceedingly competent individual, who has a startling capacity for empathy with your customers, as well as those who will be working under you.”

Will had to snort at that, which caused Hannibal to raise an eyebrow in question.

“I -” Will began, then faltered. It was one thing telling Bev, and Alana knew, and he wasn't ashamed of it in the slightest, but he didn't always feel that discussing his disorder was something that he really needed to do with others. Then he looked at Hannibal, all open acceptance, and changed his mind. “I have an empathy disorder,” he said. For all that he could see that it was highly unlikely for the information to phase Hannibal in any way, he still felt the need to avert his eyes as he spoke. “It was worse when I was a kid, before I knew how to deal with it.” He shrugged, looking back up at Hannibal again. His face hadn't changed; he still looked as fascinated by what Will had to say as he always did. “I don't know if you know much about that type of disorder. I can put myself into pretty much anyone's shoes, which _sounds_ like a good thing, but it isn't always. I'm better at it now, though.”

Hannibal didn't respond for a long minute. It looked to Will like he was sorting through his words, taking care to make sure he chose the right ones.

“You're much stronger than I gave you credit for,” Hannibal eventually replied. “And even my initial estimation was not inconsiderable.”

It was extraordinarily hard for Will to keep from hiding his face behind his hands. He wondered, yet again, if his instinct to hide every time Hannibal spoke his mind about Will would ever pass, or if he would always end up so flustered.

“Would you like popcorn with the film?” Hannibal pushed back from the table. “I can make a peanut caramel sauce to go with it.”

“Now _that_ sounds delicious,” Will said, seizing on the opportunity to settle his mind. “I'll make the popcorn while you do that?”

Hannibal nodded in agreement and picked up his dishes, Will following suit. They rinsed their plates, stacking them in the dishwasher (and how Will had managed not to notice that a dishwasher existed he had no idea, though he suspected the overwhelming size of everything else in the kitchen had distracted him enough to miss it), then collected all the things they needed.

“I've never made my own peanut butter,” Will remarked when he saw the jar Hannibal placed on the counter. “Is it easy?”

“Remarkably,” Hannibal replied. “And I must admit, it pleases me to find someone who understands why I enjoy making my own.”

Will hadn't said a thing about understanding, but he was pleased that Hannibal knew that he did.

“People often don't,” he said. “They think it's about feeling better than everyone else.”

Hannibal nodded, looking pleased.

“It's the process. Who among us doesn't have their hobbies, their release from the strain of daily life?”

“Though,” added Will, “It does make me feel a _little_ bit better than someone who plays golf instead.”

Hannibal laughed at that, a genuine peal of delight. It only just occurred to Will when he heard it that he'd not yet seen Hannibal laugh like that before. It was something he could well get used to seeing and hearing.

“Do I have something on my face?”

Hannibal was looking at him, still amused but also slightly questioning. Will mentally shook himself.

“No, I just. I like your laugh.”

Hannibal's face grew softer, and his hands stilled.

“I have no idea why Fate saw fit to deliver you into my life, but I am grateful she did.”

“Me too,” Will said softly. They looked at each other a beat longer, then returned to their respective jobs with no more said. Will felt like he was floating as he made his way over to switch on the hob, carrying with him his pot and popcorn kernels. He waited while Hannibal made the sauce, watching intently as the sugar melted down, turning its beautiful honey colour then becoming caramel as the cream was added. Will put the popcorn on just as Hannibal added spoonfuls of thick, creamy peanut butter to the caramel, where it swiftly melted as he stirred it through.

“That looks really good,” he said, watching Hannibal take the pot off the heat. It smelt even better than it looked, and he couldn't wait to taste it. Before him the popcorn started to pop in the pot, the sound always throwing him back into memories of his childhood. The smells and the sounds of this kitchen were fast attaching themselves to every pleasant memory he had, and while that was potentially dangerous, Will didn't believe it actually would be. He was, most assuredly, safer here in this room, with this man, than just about anywhere he'd been in his life.

The popcorn ended its crescendo just as Will came to his realisation. He turned off the gas, tipping the still hot puffs into the bowl Hannibal had provided. Hannibal drizzled the golden brown sauce over the popcorn, and it was more difficult that Will would like to admit to not stick his finger under the stream and take a taste. The only thing that had him refraining was his disinclination to have the skin on his fingers burnt off by boiling sugar, even if it had cooled somewhat. Even still, he couldn't resist stealing a piece of sauce coated popcorn once Hannibal's back was turned. It was still hot, but it tasted even better he had anticipated. He hummed his approval, Hannibal turning to watch his reaction.

“It meets with your approval, then?”

“More than just meets it,” Will answered, licking the faint drips sauce from his fingers in an entirely unnecessary fashion just to see the effect it had on Hannibal. He wasn't disappointed. Hannibal's eyes dropped to Will's lips, watching as his fingertip was sucked into his mouth, and Will could almost see the shift in Hannibal's breathing.

“Movie?” he asked, just as pleased when Hannibal's darkened eyes snapped up to meet his own.

“Yes. The tv is this way,” he replied, and anyone who only heard him and didn't see the way he'd been looking at Will wouldn't have known he was ever distracted. Will had to say he was impressed at his self control.

He followed Hannibal into a different room than the one they'd relaxed in last time. In this room was a pair of armchairs, similar but not identical to the others, and a couch – if it could be called a couch. It was long, and wide, and the plushest piece of furniture Will had ever seen. It also didn't, despite the way the rest of the house was decorated, match any of the décor at all. He walked around it and sat down, practically sinking into the cushions.

“This isn't a couch,” he said, wriggling until he found a spot so comfortable he didn't think he'd ever be able to move again. “This is a cloud. You captured a cloud and wrangled it into a couch shape.”

Hannibal smiled, putting the popcorn bowl down on the coffee table before them.

“It's another of the few pieces I managed to salvage from my childhood home,” he explained. “It's been reupholstered, restuffed, and had so many parts of its frame replaced over the years that I am hesitant to even say it's the same one that first entered our home. But I find myself far too attached to it to ever part with it.”

“I don't blame you. How do you not just stay here and refuse to move?”

“There have been days in which that has been a most tempting thought.”

He bustled about after than, switching on the television and setting up the movie, then dimming the lights before coming to sit next to Will. It was that move that had Will realising the drawback to such a huge couch. They weren't a huge distance apart, but there was still enough space that it would take a deliberate move by either one of them to make contact. Maybe that was the point. Hannibal pulled the bowl up, sitting it between them.

“You're not worried I'll spill caramel on your couch?” Will asked, carefully pulling out a few pieces with his fingertips. Hannibal merely looked at him with a slightly puzzled look.

“Given you're neither a dog nor a toddler, I'm sure I can trust you to eat like a reasonable human.”

There was something in the way Hannibal said that that made Will laugh, though he couldn't have put his finger on exactly what it was. Maybe it was the entire lack of any emotion or teasing that did it. Whatever it was, it had Will relaxing back into the soft cushions, chewing on the popcorn. It really was amazing, and he couldn't believe it had never occurred to him to have it like this before.

The movie started. Will later would swear that he tried to pay attention, to watch what it was that Hannibal loved, and he did, but it was an entirely futile effort. Being in the semi-dark with Hannibal, on something so soft and so comfortable that he could only draw the similarity to a bed distracted Will enough, but whenever their fingers would brush in the popcorn bowl it was like Will's brain short-circuited. It was a scenario that Will had seen in more than enough movies, but he'd never in all his life actually experienced it, nor did he know anyone who had.

“The only problem with this popcorn,” Hannibal remarked, “is that the sauce is impossible to keep off one's fingers.”

Will looked over to see Hannibal peering at his hand, thumb tapping against his middle and forefingers as he checked how sticky they were. It really was too much for Will. He grabbed Hannibal's hand, not really giving much thought to how covered in peanut butter caramel his own fingers were. He probably wouldn't have cared even if he had noticed. Keeping his eyes firmly fixed to Hannibal's surprised ones, he lifted his fingers to his mouth, sucking the sauce slowly off one finger, then the next, then the next. He released Hannibal's hand and licked his lips.

“Better?” he asked with a smirk.

Hannibal stared at him, slack-jawed, his eyes heavy-lidded again. His gaze dropped to the bowl between them. Without any real warning, he grabbed the bowl and shifted it to the coffee table, then pulled Will until he was straddling Hannibal's lap. His hands slid up Will's thighs to rest on his hips. Will sat back, looking down at Hannibal, his own arms resting loosely on Hannibal's shoulders.

“Much better,” Hannibal purred while the movie played on the background, forgotten.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I'm so sorry for cutting it off there, but the chapter was already getting too long. But there will be fun times next chapter!  
> 2\. Peanut butter caramel sauce is both easy to make, and pretty much like heaven on a spoon. I especially recommend it poured all over vanilla ice cream.  
> 3\. I've been sick af the last week or so, so I'm not sure if next weeks chapter is going to go up on time. I'm hoping it will, but just in case it doesn't, here's the heads up.
> 
> ♥♥♥

**Author's Note:**

> Things are starting off a little slowly, but get there they will ♥


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